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Sunday, 1 September 2013

The Krud Diaries: Day 6

Dear Diary,
                   Today, meine liebe, is a day that will go down in history.
A thousand years from now, when they come to write the history of this day, many will say: “this was Kevin’s finest hour”.
Today, my diary, I went to Brissie and conquered the world!
That paragon of sound leadership, a man we all admire, and of course I speak of the father of fiscal conservatism Joseph Stalin, decreed that when he finished an address to the praesidium the first delegate to stop clapping should be hauled out and shot.
I did not need to stoop to such contrivances, my diary - I contented myself with ex-communication – they loved me for myself.
They loved me! For myself! For my vision! And, diary, they loved me for the frisky little frisson of sexual titillation that all who come into contact with me experience.
Oh, diary, I cannot speak highly enough of myself!
I told you yesterday, diary, of the many minions who have seen fit to betray me; those of little faith who allowed themselves to be blind to the Power of The Krud.
Well, today I revealed myself to them in all my glory to those folk and the good burghers of Brizzie.
Krud, the Fighter.
Krud, the man who likes to come from behind.
Krud, the scourge of provincial governments.
Krud, the job creator.
Krud, the healer.
Krud, the Tafe-lon man!
It was the best Nurembur … Kampagne rally I have ever attended, diary.
Campbell Abbott surely will have no answer to my hammer blows of cut, cu … surely will have no answer to my axe blows of cut, cut, cut.
I, diary, am Tony Newman’s Last Boy Scout! He is defenceless against my ‘dib, dib, dib, dob, dob, dob, cut, cut, cut, job, job, job’.
Of course, I kept my adoring crowd waiting, meine lieb. While I got myself into ‘the zone’, may faithful Albo delivered a rousing speech understood by at least half of the adoring crowd.
When I assume Supreme Com … the Prime Ministership again, I will be sure to appoint him a personal dentist and speech therapist.
He was followed by my good lady wife, fetchingly attired in her bright red three-man dome tent with winged collars.She has been enamoured of the style ever since she watched the great Servalan eviscerate Blake’s Seven.
No Great Man has been better served by a Little Woman than I.
Having dismissed the make-up girlie – as if MY face can be perfected! – I was free to crank up my Boom Box, get cool and jiggy with it and become The Eye of The Tiger!
Not only was I in ‘the zone’, diary, I was riding the Highway to The Danger Zone!
Naturally, I had studied my Austin Powers instructional videos, but I went further, my diary.
Not only was I the Eye of The Tiger with a fully loaded Mojo, I was Rocky Balboa, a fight, fight, fighter, coming from behind to defeat Campbell ‘Apollo’ Abbott.
There was slight discord shortly after I ascended to the podium, diary, when a minion was heard to say that I looked and sounded like Pee Wee Herman channelling Jimmy Carter. Another was overhead opining that I sounded like the love child of Richard Clyderman and Liberace.
Both were summarily dealt with. I believe that they were agents of That Woman – the extra piano wire and meat-hooks will come in handy indeed, meine liebe. He, he, he.
As for those who doubted me … they were swept aside on a tide of oratory and Ratfucker money that left them shivering and quaking in their RM Williams boots!
“Krudland, Krudland uber Abbott, Krudland dum dum over the world.
“KRUDLAND women, KRUDLAND loyalty, KRUDLAND wine and KRUDLAND song.
Oh. I believe I got quite carried away there, diary. One day I will be rid of our pathetic national anthem and the little people will be able to sing a song they can sing with Gesta … Gusto!
And they shall sing, diary, when the plan I announced today to crush the provincial States beneath the heel of my jack-booted RM Williams heel comes to fruition.
Equally, I shall shower Ratfucker cash on Krudler jugend to allow them to finish their apprenticeship.
Of course, diary, I did not reveal the full extent of my plans. My anschluss of New Zealand will wait until next year, after I have removed Admiral Bradbury from any command role.
Equally, my plans to elevate Teddy to a senior role on my staff shall remain a secret only I shall possess – Bruce has had his chance and proved himself unworthy.
I believe, diary, that my performance today will put the zurück stabbers to shame. Let them crawl to me and beg forgiveness!
There is little else to say, diary. Hawke and Keating were there, of course, but they are nothings hoping to bask in my reflective glory.
Swan was there, against my express orders – another black mark against the quisling Bruce – as was the USURPER Beattie.
I care nothing for them. My minions, disguised as The Abbott’s operatives, will ensure that neither of them has a seat at my table when I assume supreme ... my Prime Ministership.
A great day, diary. A glorious day that will mark the beginning of die tausend Jahre Krud Regel!
The only blight on my wunderbar day, diary, was the craven display by Obama. He knows that I need him to blast the crap out of the Syrian ragheads, yet still he leaves the decision in the hands of his Congress!
He has fallen into the same trap as the weakling Cameron. No matter, he is a nothing. Having been outside the wire, I know that Krud’s Kommandoes will do what I ask of them without question. We shall create the necessary crisis for my Kampagne.
Today, meine liebe, I was finally able to present the little people with their true choice: do they want a man who volunteers as a firefighter and surf lifesaver; a man who abandoned his holiday to rescue and succour victims of the Bali bombing? Or they do they want a true warrior? A warrior who endured incorrect meals being delivered and hours without a hair-dryer before going outside the wire to cut a ribbon?
I believe I know who they will choose.

Notes to self: Instruct the Little Woman that a two-man tent is the maximum allowable attire; get minion to source emergency de-greening dental attention for DRF Albo; order yet more piano wire and meat-hooks.

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