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Tuesday, 13 August 2013

The Krud Diaries: Day 26

G’day Diary,
                     I should apol … apolo … that is to say, I am sorr … in that I should say sorr … never mind.
Oh, diary, if only you were an interest group with which I never engaged, never cared about and never thought about until my minions told me there was a vote in it!
Then I would be able to say “sorry” several times, in a meaningless gesture satisfying the ‘Perenially Guilty On Someone Else’s Behalf’ group without having to actually do anything.
I wish it could be so, but it would be pointless to treat you like that diary. You can’t vote.
Still, as the old saying goes, self love means never having to say you’re sorry and I’m not interested in raking over the past, or trawling through a sewer of constant negativity?
No way Jose!
I’m about moving forwa … I’m about a New Way, a positive plan for the peasan … good burghers of Australia.
You see, diary, today I realised how difficult I must have been for you to live with this past week.
I have made my minions miserable, of course, but that is what minions are for, whereas you, diary, have inexcusably been made miserable too. It was only today that the scales fell from my eyes and I realised that I had allowed myself to be captured by my minion-inspired focus group/polling/you might lose/ crap.
I have been a fool, diary. In allowing myself to be lulled by inferior minions, I lost sight of some self-evident universal truths.

I am Kevin!
I am from Queensland and I am here to help myself!
I am the smartest man on the planet!
I have more fake Twitter followers than anybody else!
I Am Me!

Oh, diary, I feel so much better now. In fact, I’m tickety-boo.
As you have borne the brunt of my foolish self doubt, I wanted you to be the first to know of the changes I am instituting.
First, there will be no more Wagner on the iPod. From now on it is John Denver all the way.
“Leavin’ on a jet plane, so good to be flying around again,
 Leavin’ on a jet plane, that bitch won’t give me chicken again
When I come back, you’ll all kiss my ring”.
Second, I have instructed my minions to dump this “he’s a changed man” shit and dig out my Ned Flanders, Austin Powers and Walter Mitty instructional videos from 2007.
From this moment forth I shall be super duper, okilly dokilly and totally groovy baby.
You know diary, I’ve been getting around this great country, of which I am prime minister, quite a lot lately, and it doesn’t take a rocket surgeon or a brain scientist – you know, all those nerdy guys who just stand around in white coats testing stuff, examining stuff and doing, um, the stuff that we need to have done so we can cut to the chase and solve stuff – to get a handle on where the good folk of this great country of ours, of which I am prime minister, are really at.
And you know - if I could just say this - the good burgher’s of Australia deserve a fair suck of the sav bottle and I’m just the man to give it to them because, and I don’t want to whistle Dixie on my own trumpet here, nobody makes people suck bottled eggs quite like I can.
Rightily tightily! I don’t want to throw shrimps on your barbie, diary, but I’m feeling very chipper on this balmy evening here in … I dunno, wherever the fuck this Smallsville is.
My minions did tell me where we were going, but what with tearing them new ones over the debate notes fiasco and playing with all of the little dials and buttons up the front of the plane I missed it.
And lets call a manual earth excavation implement a manual earth excavation implement here, but it doesn’t really matter where the fuckily duckily I am. Wherever I am in this wide brown land we call Australia, of which I am prime minister, the good folk are all the same. They can all be bought, bribed, brow-beaten or bullshitted!
Of course, it isn’t all beer and skiddies. The Abbott is still resisting my cunning plan to have a debate every week on each different television network.
He wants his so called ‘People’s Forums’, but he must know I cannot allow this to happen.
Doesn’t he know how much taxpayer’s money has been spent gifting the networks rebates on their licence fees?
Doesn’t he know how much time I have invested in sucking up to the journalists I would have on my panels?
I tell you, diary, I haven’t spent years anbau nützlichen Idioten in den Medien nur für ihn, um die Kontrolle von Anfragen an die große ungewaschene Hand!
Wie zum Teufel soll ich gewinnen, wenn ich nicht stapeln Sie die Fragen?!
Phew. I’m calm now. Sorry. It’s the Wagner thing.
Anyway, tomorrow the Treasury boffins will don their white coats, crunch the number stuff and release the PEFO.
It will be a good opportunity for me to grasp the nettle, tell everybody how I saved this great country, of which I am prime minister, from the GFC and hold up a jar of Vegemite, the better to i) demonstrate that I am a little Aussie bleeder and ii) flog the GST scare campaign..

“I’m a happy little Kevimite
As Aussie as can be.
You’d all enjoy your Kevimite
Without the GST.
Our odds to win are getting longer
Every single week,
But you must love your Kevimite
Must all adore your Kevimite
He has a pose, for every tweet.

Notes to self: Find out what PEFO, GFC and GST stand for: tell minion to buy: Bigger pins for The Abbott voodoo doll; hair extensions; stogies for Kev ll Marcus.

Gotta zip!   

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