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Wednesday, 4 September 2013

The Krud Diaries: Day 4

Dear Diary,
                   Today, diary, was a day dedicated to TasmaniaI like Tasmania and I think the Ratfuckers will like it too when I give it to them in exchange for more free money.
Mind you, diary, the Ratfuckers will have their hands full with some of the good folk of the Apple Isle – I’m not sure whether it is the gene pool or something in the water, but some of the burghers of Tasmania are – well lets be blunt about this, here – creepy. As Dietrich Boenhoffer once said: "It's a nice place to visit, aber ich würde nicht wollen, um dort zu leben!”
Still, it was nice to get away from the heat of the campaign fight – do you know something diary? I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this in passing, but I’m a fight, fight, fighter Abbott666, $70 billion – for a few hours.
I don’t think I’m gilding the lily here, meine liebe, when I say that a visit by a humble Boy from Brissie is the biggest thing to hit Tasmania since … well, do know something? … I can’t think of anything bigger or better than my good self, fight, fight, fight, cut, cut, cut, $70 billion hole. 
Naturally I was accompanied by some of my Tasmanian caucus drones, nobodies hoping to bathe in my reflected glory.
My minions did tell me their names, but I don’t remember. I usually discard useless information, to keep my mind fresh for the challenges of saving the world from Tony Campbell, $70b black hole, jobs, jobs, jobs. And cuts.
Actually, do you know something? I do remember one name. Dick Adams, but I only remember that because we had to pause every five 10 minutes to allow him to eat.
By jiminy-crikey, diary, Dick is a devil mit dem Schnitzel und die Wurst! Fat turd. He clearly does fit into the party I shall create in mein own image. He shall have to learn to say no to dem schnitzel und die wurst if he wishes to retain my favour.
The only blight on my day, Campbell Abbott black hole, massive cuts, Abbott, Abbott, Abbott666, was due to my minions yet again failing.
I’ll tell you something for nothing, dear diary, when my term as el presidente … Prime Minister … is confirmed, I’ll also be taking a broom to the ranks of my minions.
They allowed a pair of radio disc jockeys to ambush me with a general knowledge quiz!
Not only did my minions fail to control the media, cut, cut, cut, Abbott666, they failed in their core duty, which is to ensure that I … am … never … wrong, even when I am wrong.
I allegedly only answered seven questions correctly, which is clearly impossible Abbott Newman, cut, cut, cut, black hole, Evil Murdoch.
I think I can safely say without fear of contradiction, diary, that after my glorreichen sieg on Saturday, those so-called radio announcers will find themselves doing the midnight to dawn shift on Radio Lollipop on Manus Island.
I assuaged my anger by summarily dismissing a minion who dared to joke that “at least 7-10 was a pass”, Abbott, Abbott, Abbott666, Murdoch Evil, $70 billion black hole, school kids’ hats.
To be honest, diary, there is little else to relate about my day as I travelled around this great country of ours, of which I am prime minister.
I was heckled in Brissie this morning while engaged in my morning perambulation.
No, no, diary, quell your outrage meine liebe. The hecklers were my own minions. It was my own idea, as all of the most brilliant ones are, to harvest the sympathy vote. The little people are stupid enough to take a suck on that sauce bottle, I’m certain of it.
And, can I just say this, diary. My regular perambulatory expeditions around Brissie have been most valuable in terms of ascertaining, as one does when one seeks to address an issue of substance with solutions of substance, the precise measures required to achieve one’s aims one sets out to lift  an urban metropolis from a state of morbid moribundity – a state in which Brissie currently finds itself existing – to a higher state, wherein that higher state represents the culminatory pinnacle attained when one brings together the combinational results that arrive when one puts desire in concert with will and ability.
As I have outlined there in my previous remarks, diary, me perambulations have allowed me to visualise just what Brissie will be alike when my building programme is complete.
Naturally, I will move the seat of Government to Brissie when my regime rules with an iron fis … Government receives the blessing of the electorate.
As you know, I was once an artist and architect, vocations I abandoned when I dedicated myself to self-serv … public service and it therefore should come as no surprise that I will supervise the construction works myself.
I’ll let you in on a secret, mat … diary. The Krud de Triomphe will transform the landscape!
As for the rest of the day – Abbott Campbell, massive cuts, cuts, cuts, costing, Murdoch Empire – The Abbott re-affirmed that he is a yokel when it comes to international relations and the Reserve Bank refused to lower interest rates.
On Syria, I can only espouse my previously enunciated position. Barry needs to accept my finely nuanced position and blast some ragheads, preferably before Saturday.
And what of the Reserve Bank? I hear you ask, diary.
Let me just say this: these intolerable displays of bureaucratic independence must stop, diary, and … I … am … just … the … man to stop it. When my presidency-for-life … Prime Ministership is confirmed by the good burghers of this country I shall take immediate steps to root out subversives and install apparatchiks who understand which end of the sauce bottle to suck on, Abbott, Abbott, Abbott666, Evil Murdoch, massive cuts, Tony Campbell.

Notes to self: Instruct minions – again – to remove homeless riff-raff from my perambulatory route; abandon Abbott voodoo doll pins – go the barbie skewer option.

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