What a day! I’m somewhat tired tonight diary, so my time with you will be short.
It is no wonder I’m weary, diary. I spent the day at Ekka, being mobbed by my adoring people.
I also have to be up at the crack of dawn, in tip top shape, so I can lickety split to the Northern Territory to announce yet another okilly dokilly policy.
I don’t know what the policy is, of course. One cannot rush these things. In truth, there is little point in an intellectual giant such as myself making plans. Why tie myself down with plans when my incredible intellect will, in a flash of inspiration, provide me with the perfect answer?
But do you know something? That is for tomorrow.
And do you know something else? Tonight I’m all about today, and with little wonder given the sheer power and magnetism of my performance today.
Of course, I had to announce a policy, today but that was just a trifling matter.
When my minions were going through those boxes searching for my Ned Flanders mannerisms booklet, they found a Trade Training Centre policy I used in 2007 and … that was that.
With the policy junk out the way, I took a little time out to deliver a crushing indictment of my sexist, racist, homophobist and, dare I say it, Ruddist would-be Nemesis The Abbott and dealt with the suggestion that I would negotiate with that ghastly Green woman.
Naturally, I assured the press fools that I would not entertain the thought of sharing power and, I can just say this: I think I’m pretty safe in saying they can take that to the bank
Me? Share power? Ridiculous.
Of course, my minions will ensure we swap preferences, after all 48 of my acolyte … caucus colleagues wouldn’t have a chance in hell of being elected without Green preferences.
With the mundane out of the way, I was free to do what I do best, diary. Yep, you guessed it. I worked the crowd at the Show.
(Just a mo, before I forget. I must remind a minion to find me a tradie: I don’t believe I’ve ever actually met one before and, you know what? I’m curious.)
Now, where was I?
Correct. The crowd at the Show.
I mingled, accepting their unbridled adulation as my due and, diary, I got to do my most favourite thing: I had my picture taken hundreds of times with adoring fans.
It is true what my minions say: I really AM the Jason Bieber of Australian politics.
Of course, I had to show my people that I wasn’t just a demi-god, so I served ice-creams, with strawberries on top.
One of the servant girls at the ice cream van voiced criticism of my ice creams, but even her impertinence could not quell my mood.
My minions have her name, in any case.
I also have a minion’s name, which I shall remember when I assume the seat of unbridled powe … seat of Government.
Looking back at footage of myself, I noticed that when I raised my arm to wave to my people that there were sweat stains on the armpits of my shirt.
I don’t know how many times I have told them that I DON’T LIKE THAT LOOK!
Kevin does not sweat. Kevin glows.
I believe they are organising portable fans, which a minion will have on standby to apply to my armpits should, I'm sorry, when I raise my arms to my adoring people.
Well, as I said to you earlier, diary, and I think I was right in doing so, I must be up with the birds tomorrow so I will take to my bed.
Notes to self: Don’t wear shirts with red stripes; find out where the fuck
is; solve Egyptian
crisis before breakfast – if time allows. Darwin