The Krud Diaries: Day 17

Dear Diary,

                   I obliterated him!

I exposed The Abbott for the sham fool that he is.

I am on such a high, my diary, I am so pumped, I won’t be able to sleep a wink tonight.

I haven’t felt such enthusiasm since I planned my march on Copenhagen. In point of fact, I am so excited, diary, I could eat myself!

Of course, there were a few sticky moments along the way, but the measure of Kevin is how h … I cope with adversity.

Where others may cringe at adversity, Kevin thrives on sticky moments.

Early in the battle, I realised that my microphone had been sabotaged! One of The Abbott’s minions had coated it with super-glue, thus ensuring it became stuck to my chin.

Naturally, meine schöne kleine Zeitschrift, I handled the situation with the aplomb natural to those born to lead.

But perhaps I am getting ahead of myself.

I think I may be a little tipsy, diary, tee hee. Several of my faithful acolytes in the press were so in awe of my performance they insisted on drinking to my success.

Naturally, one doesn’t wish to mingle too much with functionaries, but my victory was so complete, diary, I wanted them to bathe in my glow. They have earned the privilege.

I didn’t pay for the drinks, of course: the Ratfuckers paid, courtesy of the taxpayer-provided credit cards I have issued to my minions.

I am fortunate indeed to have an endless supply of Ratfucker money. Therese only gives me $5 a week pocket money.

Okay folk … diary. I’m calm now. I’ll start from the beginning.

Why there? Do you know something? That is a very good question. I begin at the beginning because in any venture, be it a big venture that some such as myself would embark upon or a little venture that some such as the little people would venture to venture upon, you have to start somewhere, folks.

And you can’t start without Knowing. The. Cold. Hard. Facts, people.

In the beginning was Krud … no, no, that was just a little joke diary – I am SO excited because I had to overcome SO much adversity.

Firstly, I had to deal with some little woman who tried to apply make-up to MY face.

Leaving aside the obvious fact that MY face cannot be improved upon – why, just yesterday a minion commented to me that Brad Pitt would still be flipping burgers for the good burghers had I not dedicated myself to selfless service to my people - she was clearly deficient in some way.

She seemed immune to my natural charm. Every single one of the throngs of my little people my minions have gathered for my public appearances have fallen to their knees before me, however, she did not.

A nothing. I dismissed her.

(Between us, diary, I think that some women have a problem dealing with strong, decisive men such as myself.)

A lesser man would have allowed the incident to deflect him from his ultimate goal, but do you know what, meine liebe? I’m a fighter. I’ve been written off before and do you know what? I have a habit of coming back because I. WANT. TO. FIGHT. EVERY. STEP. OF. THE. WAY. TO. ENSURE. THE ABBOTT’S. SECRET. PLANS. ARE. FOILED.

Secondly, I had to deal with the microphone treachery.

Questions will be asked and the perpetrator will be bought to book, but my Opponent now knows that The Krud can take it sticky on the chin and still come up smiling.

It is easy to smile when you have your opponent on the ropes. I danced, I weaved, jab, jab, jab, I landed blow after blow and there was nothing he could do to stop me.

Cut. Cut. Cut. Bone. Bone. Bone. Secret plans. Nurses. Teachers. Campbell Newman!

Eventually, my concerted attack reduced him to telling me to “shut up”. Little does the fool know that Kevin NE … I can NEVER be silenced!

Oh, diary, I almost forgot. My ploy with the water bottles worked seamlessly, as I knew it would.

Fighting Tories is thirsty work, therefore it would seem natural for me to drink a lot of water.

Little did the fools know that my minions had secreted my notes onto the labels on the water bottles. As I have said before, greatness cannot be constrained by mere rules.

Of course, my minions deserve a modicum of credit, diary. Never let it be said that Kevin fails to reward faithful service.

My press gallery monkey squadrons were instructed to put out that the questions would be asked by swinging voters. Meanwhile, my minions were instructed to put out that anyone who permitted a question not approved by me to be asked would be swinging from a gibbet.

Bruce did his work well and was duly rewarded – I allowed him to let the taxpayers buy him a second lemon, lime and bitters.

It is important to let one’s minions know when they have performed their duties adequately.

I was told that The Abbott was so devastated by his crushing defeat, he stumbled around the room afterwards allowing little people who had NOT BEEN VETTED BY HIS MINIONS to actually talk to him.

My press gallery flying monkeys and I laughed long and hard at that.

As Dietrich Bonhoeffer would say: Ein großer Führer wie Kevin kümmert sich nicht mit den erbärmlichen Leben der kleinen Leute!

Oh, diary, I will never sleep tonight after My Great Victory. I might treat myself to another drinky-poo or two. I think I’ll give Teddy one too. The little woman will never know.

Notes to self: Punish minion if I have a hangover tomorrow; punish minion if Teddy has a hangover tomorrow; what the hell, punish minion anyway!