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Thursday, 5 September 2013

The Krud Diaries: Day 3

Dear Diary,
                   Recession, recession. Massive cuts. MASSIVE cuts. Abbott, Abbott, Abbott666, Evil Murdoch, sauce bottle sucking.
Did I mention massive cuts, Abbott Campbell, diary?
As you can see, meine liebe, I am honing my final positive messages to the electorate as the day of my triumph approaches.
I have honed my message over the weeks, tweaking it with a subtlety which, let’s just be straight here, will be lost on many of the little people.
As I said to the good folks of this country – of which I am Prime Minister – some weeks ago in Brissie, I’m all about a New Way and a positive message, Abbott666 is the devil, Murdoch is his evil puppet-master, Tony Newman, austerity, massive cuts.
I began my day in Melbourne, diary, to be greeted with the news that yet another media mogul had dared to criticize me. I shit you not, diary.
I would expect this sort of thing from the Evil Murdoch Empire – bias, regime change, hate media – but this Ronnie Corbett bloke, I think that was his name, represents my most loyal cabal of press lackeys.
Do you know something, diary? Others may take a different view, but it’s a free country and that Corbett prick has every right to embarrass himself if he wants to.
Ask me if I care, diary. Too right I fucking care! He can keep his seditious fucking opinions to himself. Abbott, Abbott, Recession! floods, cuts, cuts, cuts.
What people can’t keep for themselves are MY tee-shirts, which is what a cabal of the little people tried to do in Melbourne this morning.
I realise, diary, that Victoria is a hotbed of spies and subversives in the employ of That Woman, but I didn’t consider that they would try to pinch tee-shirts.
They professed their loyalty to me, of course, but the question we have to ask ourselves is this: do those folks even know the meaning of the word?
I think, diary, that you only have to look at Victoria’s two most well known political figures of recent times in That Woman and Billy The Rat to get an accurate measure of what ‘loyalty’ means in Victoria.
The place is riddled with opposition, but I will root them out, meine liebe, I … will … root … them … out. Abbott, cuts, Recession, evil Murdoch.
Having got my tee-shirts back off the free-loading little people, I zipped out of Melbourne and high-tailed it Adelaide – another nest of support for That Woman. Campbell Abbott, 12,000 public servants.
Naturally enough, diary, the people there love me now. How could they not, when I have lavished so much Ratfucker money so they can keep their mundane little jobs making their cars, quite apart from the love engendered simply by me being me?
My minions arranged for me to visit one of the factories where these little people work. I had a good yarn to all of the guys and girls there who make stuff with their hands and make stuff with their brains.
I lulled them, meine liebe, with the power of my oratory. I told them I didn’t want to rule … live in a country full of folks running hotels. I even told them that I thought they were human beings!
I know, I know! They are mere cattle who vote, but they believed me, diary, the little fools actually believed me!
We talked, diary, about all of the good, positive stuff about how Abbott666 will give us a Great Depression and how Tony Newman’s cuts, cuts, cuts will see 9 out of every 10 Australians living in cardboard boxes under bridges.
A very positive day, meine liebe, but being positive – Abbott666, plague of frogs, locusts, Depression – comes naturally to Brizzie boy in the shape of my good self.
The public pools, especially those of the Evil Murdoch Empire, paint a picture of despair, but my own internal polling paints a far different, andivegottasay, more accurate picture.
Every day of this great kampagne, diary, I have gathered my minions together asked them three very simple questions. What are those questions? You know something, I’m glad you asked that and response to that query, let me just say this:
The three questions are as follows:
One: Who is the best Prime Minister you ever saw?
Two: Who is the Greatest Prime Minister in Australia’s history?
Three: Who is the smartest man in the room?
Four: Who saved the world from the GFC?
Five: Who do you admire the most. Ever, ever?
In answer to those three questions, do you know what my minions answer every time, diary?
If you guessed ‘Krud’, you would be guessing right, my friend. So you can see clearly that my internal polling has me on track for a crushing victory over the negative, old way of The Abbott666, floods, tempest, plague of boils, cut, cut, cut.
I rounded out my positive day by once again demonstrating my forensic grasp of the Bible to skewer The Abbott yet again.
What I said to the folks was this: Noah was, as you well know diary, one of the apostles and he was in the maritime architecture business, specialising in custom-built Arks. What many who haven't devoted the time to study this stuff as I have don't know, is that Noah was a second cousin, twice-removed, to Ezekiel. Now it was Ezekial, in his role as general secretary of the Hittite Chariot Makers Union, who forced the Egyptian Pharoah - who's name was John 23rd the 4th by the way, for those folks who want to get down to the fine detail of this thing, to commission a boat building programme after Ezekial, in concert with the Mennonite Dam Builders Union, blocked the Euphrates and flooded Egypt. Ezekiel, through the offices of Miriam, Noah's wife's second cousin by her half brother Agamemnon, had foretold of the flood to Noah, thus allowing him to undercut the competition and win the contract.
And what has this to do with The Abbott, you ask? Well, do you know something, that is a good question, a question to which there is a very simple answer, which is this:
I told the good folk in Adelaide, that Noah had better technology in his Ark ... than The Abbott has in his NBN plan! Oh, diary, my wittiness astounds even me. Noah, a Cretaceous-period boat builder and amateur zoologist had more technology than The Abbott has!
I tell you, my little journal of record, that joke had the little folk rolling in the aisles, two by two.
Notes to self: Be sure my minions weed the Murdoch’s minions out of my Press Club audience; count MY tee-shirts to ensure none escaped my net; cut, cut, cut. MASSIVE CUTS, Abbott is the devil, Tony Newman.

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