Friday, September 13, 2013

One hundred days of Tony

“The honourable the prime minister.”

“Thank you madam speaker. Fellow members of government. Visiting dignitaries. People of Australia. Disorganised Labor rabble. On this, the…alright, shut up you lot. You lost the election, now suck it up. Right, where was I? Oh yeah. On this, the occasion of my first hundred days as prime minister...let me just say that bit again in case you missed it down the back there Kevin, AS PRIME MINISTER, I would like to take this opportunity to reflect on…my magnificent physique. Hah! Just kidding, the ladies are doing that for me, am I right? Where’s the honourable member for sex appeal? Budgie smugglers? Galah smugglers more like! Oh wait wait…COCKATOO SMUGGLERS! You see what I did there? I…what? Well, it’s because…oh for crying out loud…someone explain that joke to Hockey please?

“Right, on the occasion of my first hundred yadda yadda reflect on blah blah stunning achievements etc etc. Folks, I’ve kicked arse. You ready for this? Here we go.
“As promised. I have stopped the boats! Since taking office, getting sworn in, taking down those awful bloody curtains Therese put up in the lodge and scraping the blonde hair off the soap in the prime ministerial shower, I have not let a SINGLE boat land on Australian shores! Thank you, thank you. Now, it wasn't easy:  that lot can be pretty determined to get ashore when there’s nothing waiting back home but a truncheon massage and a cell with a view. Thankfully our navy’s got a bunch of boats with thumping big guns on them. I tell you what, a couple potshots with those things and nothing you’d still call a boat is left to come ashore! ‘Course, the navy can’t cover everywhere, so we had to, ah, pull a bit of a swifty on the international asylum seeker laws. By the book, we don’t have to take ‘em unless they land on a bit that’s officially ‘Australian soil’, so we've redefined ‘Australian soil’ to mean something a bit easier to defend. Specifically the contents of that big plant pot out in the foyer of Parliament house. Now if someone can drive a boat up to that thing, bugger it, I’ll give ‘em a visa myself!
"Welcome to Australia. Please form a very small queue."

“And not only have we stopped the boats. We listened to the voice of the Australian people when they stood up proud and tall at the last election, drew breath and proclaimed ‘Fuck off, we’re full!’ So in addition to our boaty-stoppy work, we’ve got rid of all those pesky engineers and doctors and nurses and teachers and other lowlifes clogging up the pristine beauty of our detention camps. That’s right, picked up the camps at the corners and shook ‘em over New Guinea until everyone fell out! Right now they’re probably wandering around the jungle looking for a dole office, amirite?
“And the carbon tax - as promised: abolished! Yup, we abolished the hell out of that baby, threw it out along with the billions spent setting it up. We didn’t stop there either. It was pretty clear what the majority of Australians were saying there: carbon is GOOD! Burning coal Is AWESOME! So me and Chris jumped in the Pynemobile and drove around the place, pushing down windmills, throwing rocks at solar panels. chopping down trees and setting fire to Peter Garrett. You better believe the beds were burning that day, hey Pete? Lookin’ good buddy, the skin grafts are coming along nicely. We also headed for Lucas heights just in case they were making any electricity there, but...yeah, Chris got a bit green-looking after he went in this door marked ‘Radiation’, so we might have to look at the nuclear question later.
“Of course my crowning achievement is in the realm of gay marriage. Or as I like to call it, ‘Not on my bloody watch!’ After Kev outed himself on this one and then got horribly punted for it in the polls, it was pretty obvious people didn’t want the sanctity of marriage polluted by extending the privilege to the LBG…the BLT…ahh, what the hell do they call themselves these days? Bish! Hey Julie! Get on the blower to my sister and find out what the poofters and lezzies call themselves willya? Anyway, whatever it is, Australians said a loud and proud ‘NO!’ to bloke-on-bloke. And to girl-on-girl, except in the context of two hot twenty-somethings getting naked and sweaty on a casting couch in front of a fifty dollar video camera.
"Welp, that rules out Australia, Marcie."

“Now, these fine policy initiatives have had some flow-on effects; sort of the eggs you have to break to make an omelette. First up, immigrants. Job’s done, they’re outta here. You’re welcome. Unfortunately, our workforce is now short about a hundred thousand taxi drivers, service station attendants, helpdesk operators, cleaners, bus drivers and a few dozen other jobs they all did while we processed the papers that would let them use their qualifications as architects and brain surgeons and what have you. Unfortunately, since not one bloody Australian’s willing to get off the dole for less than thirty bucks an hour, there’s nobody to do all these jobs. So it’s two hour taxi queues on weekdays, petrol stations are closing at 3pm, you’re on hold to Telstra for the better part of a day if your phone spits the biscuit, and you’re making your way through ankle-deep garbage at the average Westfield food court. All worth it though eh? No more detention centres taking up valuable desert space, no more funny-looking people in the queue in front of you at the supermarket, and the taxi drivers all talk about the footy instead of some long, boring tale about escaping from Bakalakadakastan with nothing but their shoes and a picture of Sydney Harbour Bridge.
"Oh, you know. Three years political prisoner, two years detention camp, thousand miles in boat made of sticks and leaves. But I am boring you; tell me about your bad office day."
Sure, you have to wait three weeks to get a doctor’s appointment now, but at least the bloke’s the same colour as you when you finally get in there! And really, what’s more important: cheap, fast medical care or not having to strain your ears a little because the doc’s got a bit of an accent?
There’s been a bit of a thing with the carbon tax too.  Some eggheads are telling me it’s getting hotter and wetter, and without a carbon tax to keep a lid on all the odourless, tasteless, invisible undetectable whatever-it-is, it’s gunna happen faster. But you know what that means? More Speedo weather! Yup, farms might fail and oceans might rise, but your prime minister will be front and centre, stripped down to the swimmers and representing you on the world stage. So it’s win-win!
Which just leaves the…what’s that Jules? LGBT, really? I think I had one of those at Subway last week. Orrite, so the whole no-poofters-marrying thing. You'll be pleased to know there's only good news on that one. A lot of, ah, musical types have left the country since we enshrined the 'No pooftas!' rule in the constitution. But at the same time, a lot of meat-and-potatoes, Liberal-voting, right-thinking, Alan Jones-listening average Australians have...well actually they're doing exactly the same thing they were doing before the rainbows-and-hot-pants set came out of the built-in robes: going to work, holidaying in Bali and complaining about the government not doing enough to stop moral decline. So it's just like the good old days of the 1950s! Or at least it will be once I pass the 'No wives in the workplace' bill next year. Haha, not you Bish; not gunna let my fave attack dog escape from the kennel that easy. Tell you what, we'll make you an honorary Bloke.

"Now if you'll all excuse me, Rupert's asked me to drop by to discuss tomorrow's headlines. Don't want to keep the big guy waiting!"