Mar 20, 2010

Posted by in Political satire | 0 Comments

Did somebody mention a pig in a synagogue? A very cruddy fable – Part 7

Strange things are happening across the land. Our Kevvie graced the pages of many newspapers this week cuddling a baby. Dear god, could there be an election in the offing? And this from the man who promised us a new approach to politics! What was on his mind? Oh, the latest polls, you say? Indeed, his slide in popularity is reminiscent of the movie Crash and Burn. Perhaps now Kevvie will accept that the apologise-for-the-sins-of-all-mankind approach of former Shady State Maestro, Cheesy Grin, is no longer a winner. After all, every Australian believes politicians are lying each time they open their mouths so why would we accept an apology as sincere, no matter how prim and prissy the delivery?

Speaking of Doctor Death (that would be the aforementioned, Our Kevvie), hasn’t he had a fabulous return to form? Doc’s treatment of Krispy Kornflakes the other day was insightful. Not the way to win the women’s vote but insightful. It involved the imperious Emperor deliberately snubbing Krispy by refusing to even look at her when sitting side by side in the full glare of the media just because he wanted to pick a fight with the Failed State over his hospital reform measures. Nikki Savva in The Oz deliciously summarised the scene thus: ‘She looked like a wounded Bambi, graceful and doe-eyed, while he had the steely glare of a hunter ready to skin her dead or alive.’ And this is his treatment of one of his own loyal comrades: a key leader on his own team. You’d hate to be sitting across the breakfast table from him on a bad morning, eh? Or serving him the wrong thing on a plane. Or trying to work less than 21 hours a day in his office. Or . . . okay, you get the point.

It’s a reminder of Doc’s past in the Shady State when he was Director-General of the Office of Cabinet which made him the supremo of all Shady State pen pushers. Now Doctor Death is hardly the kind of moniker you’d want your children to know about but, as they say, if the cap fits . . .  The pertinent aspect of this epithet is that it was bestowed by the staff who worked with he of the bedside manner. Yes, all those Labor loyalists who got to work in the Premier’s Office – the real trusted apparatchiks – were the ones who discerned Our Kevvie’s true nature. Certainly not nurturing! They were the ones who went home in tears after a roasting for their supposedly less than perfect efforts. They were the underlings trampled with disdain by the callous perfectionist who could never acknowledge anyone else as being able to deliver to his lofty standards. Megalomania is at a hair’s breadth remove in this man. And only now are many voters starting to realise something is not quite right with the image being projected by the Emperor who cuddles babies. Perhaps they are picking-up undertones of King Herod who had a similar high regard for infants and could lop off two or three heads before breakfast.

Perhaps The Blackfella has picked-up the same vibe, too. The Supreme Being of The Entire Universe As We Know It appears to share the Australian public’s fading love affair with Kevvie and has cancelled his Kirribilli sleepover. Perhaps it was the thought of spending dinner with Kev and Mother Theresa that scared him away. I mean, no matter how much fabulous Australian wine you could quaff, nothing would make-up for hours of haranguing about the importance of policy, would it? Far better to wait until The Monsignor gets into office and then the conversation would be about vestal virgins, the joy of Lental deprivation and the gift that keeps on giving. Come to think of it, perhaps it would be best for our major alliance if sleepovers were never mentioned again. You would have to think Michelle and the kids would be eternally grateful, too. But Saccharine Man has no intention of letting them off the hook so easily. Claiming the First family as his very best mates in the world, Kevvie promised to phone the White House appointments secretary every Friday for the next six months in an effort to co-ordinate diaries and find time for a mid-winter slumber party. Mobile phones are to be left at the door in case risqué photos emerge from the evening’s entertainment.

Meantime, an icon of recent Australian political history has gone missing from the national landscape though efforts to find it could be likened to the attraction of putting your unprotected hand into a jar of funnelweb spiders. Of course, you guessed it straight away: it’s climate change! There are suspicions it has been buried in the backyard under a pile of cow dung because as Our Kevvie has intoned or droned all week: it’s now all about health and hospitals. And he has offered to do a live-to-camera jelly wrestle with The Monsignor to see just who has the best health cover. Authorities advise the program may contain traces of policy on the run and have warned that parental guidance is strongly recommended.

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