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Wednesday, 3 September 2014

The Three Worst Things The Liberals Did Yesterday (51)

The Three Worst Things The Liberals Did Yesterday (51)

The Three Worst Things The Liberals Did Yesterday (51)





S&M refused to pay the air fares of the parents of a man whose
brain death he had caused, so they could look at his sleeing face for a
while, before they turned off his life-support. ‘This would lead to
photo opportunities,’ he explained, ‘and my Ministry’s aim is to forbid
and prevent all photo opportunities of anything we do.’ He demanded the
parents turn off their son’s young life sight unseen, by email, and they
do it soon, as his continued survival was ‘incurring expense.’



His number of dead young men was the same as the number of dead young
Westerners decapitated by ISIS, he boasted, but his death-methods —
head-bashing, throat-slashing, self-immolation, septicaemia — were more
colourful and suspenseful. Decapitation was ‘soooo last millennium’.
Reminded that the Saudis do it all the time, lately to a mother and
daughter, he said, ‘Shut up, they’re our allies.’ When berated by Sarah
Hanson-Young for not caring much for those in his care — a hundred
children had lately attempted suicide — he said, ‘They’re lucky. They
didn’t drown at sea. And the more of these I kill, the more won’t come
on the voyage. This is my policy. It’s government policy. It’s working.’



When asked how many had set out on such a voyage, he said, ‘These are
on-water matters Angus won’t let me talk about. And I always do what
Angus tells me.’ Asked if hundreds had set out, and had been towed back
to torture and death in Sri Lanka, he said the same. When asked if
children would be sold into whoredom in Cambodia, he said the same. When
warned this might give the children photo opportunities on the child
porn internet, he expostulated, ‘Christ! I didn’t think of that! Maybe I
can sell them to ISIS. Or the Salvation Army. Or Cliff Richard.’



Abbott was amazed to find that people who put their money into
superannuation made extra money, through interest, with which in old age
they enhanced or improved their lifestyle. ‘Surely they’d prefer to
spend less money fast, really fast, now,’ he said, licking dry lips. ‘On
drinking binges. Lottery tickets. Going to the dogs. Hookers.’ This,
not a secure old age, he blithered, was ‘the Australian way, surely.’



Informed that he was an Englishman, Hockey a Palestinian, Cormann a
creepy sonorous Belgian, and Sinodinos a dodgy indicted Greek, and
Australia was still unfamiliar to all of them, he protested, ‘I’m an
Australian. I became an Australian. When I was twenty-four. I filled in
the forms. I became an Australian. So I could go on scholarship to
England.’ Asked why he didn’t fucking stay there, he said, ‘My degree
wasn’t good enough. And I had a vocation. To be a chaste priest.’



Asked why he had stopped, he said, ‘There wasn’t enough money in it.’
This is on page 16 of Battlelines. Asked if he knew what he was fucking
doing, he said, ‘Of course I do. I pray for instructions. And Pell
fills in what God omits to tell me. The big guy can be pretty secretive
sometimes.’ Asked how many Catholics were in his Ministry, he said,
‘Only twenty-two. Scott and Barnaby are mad foaming Protestants we’re
gamely attempting to save from Hell, but it isn’t working. They both
object to eating Christ’s living flesh on Sundays. They call it
cannibalism.’



Troy Buswell, a bipolar seat-sniffing bra-tweaking Liberal Treasurer
of the usual kind, quit politics after losing his triple-A and crashing
his car while drunk into fourteen other cars outside his home and
thereafter travelling by bus to a Parliament House whose location he
sometimes mislaid and in which he committed adultery and wooed, by
mistake, Labor staffers. His colleagues called him ‘a Greek tragedy’ and
said he would be sorely missed. Labor missed him too. Had he stayed on
as Leader Barnett would not, like Lazarus, have come with worms hanging
off him out of his grave to defeat Alan Shepherd accidentally and return
a regime of evil to that faraway country of which good folk know
little. He was, some said, a ‘good example of the usual mad cunt that
leads, for a time, the so-called Liberal Party; Abbott, Newman, Kerin,
Kennett, Greiner, Debnam, Askin, Snedden come to mind. Mental illness is
the usual qualification for such a post. And his fellow-sufferers in
Caucus embrace him as one of their own.’



And so concluded another day of the worst democratically elected
government in the Western world since that system’s invention, in
Iceland, in 934.



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