The Good Emperor

Thank goodness we finally have a Prime Minister who respects our intelligence.

Just two months into the Pax Malcolma and the onioniverous antics of our erstwhile overlord seem a lifetime ago. I can barely even remember that time Tony Abbott said baby seals deserved to be clubbed. Or tried to legalise witch-burning on the grounds it would benefit small business. Or went to the NATO summit wearing nothing but a novelty Australian flag bucket hat because Barnaby Joyce dared him too.

That dark age is behind us and Australia now is in a safe pair of hands. Safe, supple, strong hands. Dry, warm, well-manicured hands. Hands that probably couldn’t strangle a man to death, but could pay an assassin to do it for them, but wouldn’t because they’re too gentlemanly. Continue reading “The Good Emperor”

Whingers

Eddie Mabo. Rosa Parks. Nelson Mandela. These people all have one thing in common – they were sooks. But were they flogs? If the Adam Goodes saga has taught us one thing, it’s that sooks aren’t necessarily flogs and flogs aren’t necessarily sooks, though either are usually both. But what it hasn’t taught it us is that white Australians who boo an Aboriginal activist are probably racists, because how can they be when Adam Goodes is a sook and a flog and Rita Panahi is an Indian?

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This Machine Cuddles Fascists

Last week, former Keating Minister Gary Johns wrote a piece for ruling class vanity zine The Australian in which he argued that people on the dole should under no condition be allowed to reproduce. “Potential parents of poor means, poor skills or bad character will choose to have children. So be it.” lamented the Labor MP turned IPA Nazgul as he lazily kicked his bootblack in the head, “But… if a person’s sole source of income is the taxpayer, the person, as a condition of benefit, must have contraception. No contraception, no benefit.”

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Anthony Abbott’s Xmas Miracle

In the city of Canberra, of roundabout fame,
Lived a strange little man with a clergyman’s name;
He wasn’t a cardinal, though there was one he knew,
And he wasn’t a bishop, although he had two;
He wasn’t nun in a gown and a habit,
And he wasn’t a pope – he was only an Abbott.

Continue reading “Anthony Abbott’s Xmas Miracle”