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Friday, 23 August 2013

The Krud Diaries: Day 16

Liebe Mich,
                   Today I visited a Corangamite mine.
This may come as a shock to you, diary, but I don’t actually know what Corangamite is.
I must assume it is a vital component in the production of cars because the mine is very close to Geelong where, I am led to believe, cars are produced.
My faithful minion-in-chief invited workers from the nearby car plant to attend my morning rally.
It was fortunate indeed that the workers did not have to attend work – apparently the factory owner, a Mr Ford, has decreed that several days a week will be ‘Work Free’ days.
I am told he has done this in honour of my excellent work in filling his coffers with Ratfucker money.
In fact, I myself overheard some of the little people declaring “no work again today, thanks to Kev and that Bowen chucklehead”.
I spoke to Bruce about this. Bowen is a faithful lickspittle and will in time become a faithful functionary, but he is hardly worthy of sharing my limelight. If this Ford fellow’s workers are enjoying Work Free days the credit should go where it is due. 
To Kevin.
Have you noticed something else, diary? Of course you haven’t, you are merely a reflection of myself and therefore incapable of seeing beyond your ow … you are a journal.
I have embraced my wild side, diary, and thrown away my ties.
(Actually, She Who Controls The Money, has refused to pack my clothing for me since I was in Perth and therefore I have no ties left. When I asked why, she said “Maybe you should get Danii to do it” and flounced off to sign some more Government contracts.)
But, that is just between you and I, mein schönes.
The true story, which is to say, the story that will appear in the historical accounts of my glorious rei … prime ministership, is that it was a brilliant strategic move by my good self.
Those accounts will detail how I was watching my Austin Powers training videos when my superior powers of observation quickly deduced the source of his mojo.
No tie!
I call it my Austin Hefner look. It allows me to demonstrate that I am a happening dictator, diary. I am a cool cat that digs autocratic rule or, as Dietrich Bonhoeffer would say: machen Schergen Sprung ist meine Tasche, baby!
The Hefner allusion is self-explanatory, of course.
As I pointed out to the minion despatched to ‘persuade’ her to remove her foolish remarks, my sexual magnetism cannot be denied.
All are prey to it. We cannot hold hard feelings against them if they succumb to it. I have forgiven her.
Naturally, I have ordered that a PlayKrud Mansion be incorporated into the plans for the Fuhrer Complex that Parliament House will become.
My cravats and smoking jackets are on order. I have ordered an extra smoking jacket for Kev Ill Marcus so he and I can enjoy a stogey – as soon as that Cuban fool returns with a box of my good friend Fidel’s finest.
A foolish minion was overheard to opine that taking my tie off was almost as good an idea as giving J … Ju … That Woman glasses.
I dismissed him, of course. It pleases Kevin that he is now the copy boy in the PR division of the British Syphilis Appreciation Society.
KCHQ tried to create panic with silly stories about polls, but I crushed their negativity with the power of my speech to my adherents at the Corangamite mine works.
I am fighter! I shall not wear a tie and I will fight.! While my nemesis The Abbott cuts, cuts, cuts, I will fight, fight, fight!
I. Will. Punch. Kick. Campbell Newman. I. Will. Mr. Millionaire. Guy. Jobs. Cut. Cut. Cut. Cumball … Campbell. Newman. Nurses. Teachers!
Facts. Facts. Facts.
Aah, diary of mine. Who could fail to be moved by such rhetoric?
I also used my trump card phrase to inspire the little people.
Would you like to know what it is? In point of fact, diary, one would better be advised to ask “what they are”?
Hooters, diary. Hooters!
“The half-time hooter has just sounded, friends. And I will Fight. Fight. Fight for the second half. Campbell Newman. Hooter!”
Hhhmm, I must see how my new BFF Danii in Perth is. Best not to leave this in the hands of a minion, diary. I shall attend to it myself.
I also manoeuvred The Abbott into yet another fatal mistake.
As you know, I have chased him up hill and down dale with my masterly exposition on the evils of Big Tobacco. Today, he crumbled before my onslaught – clearly, the beaten cur is still licking his wounds after I tore him a new one on Wednesday night - by foolishly declaring that his party would no longer accept donations from Big Tobacco!
The fool doesn’t realise two things.
Firstly: Everybody knows that Cuban cigars are not made of tobacco, but of the supple thighs of nubile Cuban women.
And twicely, folk … And Twicely: While he has rejected the pittance Big Tobacco donates to him, my regim … my government makes nearly $6 billion in profit from excise on Big Tobacco!
I rounded out my day by tossing a few baubles and trinkets to the little people. I believe it was some sort of Cancer thing. As you know, diary, my dear mother has died seven time of nine different types of cancer, so it is an issue close to my heart. Campbell Newman. Cuts. Bone. Nurses. Teachers.
Oh, diary, I am so invigorated by my victory on Wednesday night.!
I am off to Sydney tomorrow, diary. I am very much looking forward to it – I will travel in a bigger aeroplane and have many more buttons and dials to twiddle.

Notes to self: Give more thought to promoting Bruce to Number Two. He will have to wear an eye-patch, but when self-respect is gone, what is an eye?; send minion to buy cat; follow up on progress on legislating the Korean kid’s and make-up artist’s sorry arses to PNG; commission new chapter for memoirs: Battle of the Bronco’s – My Victory.  

Thursday, 22 August 2013

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 CopenhagenIn 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! 

Wednesday, 21 August 2013

The Krud Diaries: Day 18

Dear Diary,
                   I don’t have much time to talk to you tonight.
I am busy swotting for my debate with The Abbott tomorrow night.
I did little today, being mindful of the need to marshal my intellectual forces.
I restricted myself to reinforcing my standing among the Krudler Jugend of our glorious country.
Today I saw the future of our country: its doctors, its nurses, its sports stars and its greatest ever PE teacher. They have been anointed – they will follow.
But, diary, I digress. Tomorrow night must be my focus. Finally, finally I shall have the opportunity to come to grips with my opponent.
I have spent my time today wisely, meine Liebe, constructing my parries to ward off The Abbott’s thrusts.
Naturally, I refused to debate him on his ground – who knows what the little people may get into their silly heads to ask?
However, Ron (formerly known as Bruce) has assured me that the bus carrying my 100 faithful adherents who have followed me everywhere for the past two weeks is already winging its way to the Leagues Club. They have been issued with the appropriate passes and paperwork.
I shall play a little game with you diary. You shall be an ‘undecided’ voter and ask me questions. I shall be Kevin From Queensland, Who Is Here To Help, and answer them.

Diary: You say this election is about the economy, yet your Government has never delivered a surplus. Why should I trust you to manage the economy better?

KFQWIHTH: Well, you know something? That is a very good question, which I can answer in four parts.
Firstly: you may have heard about a little thing called the GFC. You may have missed it, but it was a little thing when a bunch of guys in shiny suits almost bought the world’s economies to ruin.
My Government made the decisive, um, decisions, to protect our economy. We moved quickly, because we had to, because if we hadn’t – boy oh boy – this whole place would have been a mess, and one million jobs and a $70b black hole.
Secondly: If we hadn’t ACTED when the GFC threatened to knock our economy for six, our economy would have been knocked into touch. And let me tell you something: when your economy, the thing that drives stuff like, jobs, the thing that keeps bakers baking, nurses nursing, nuclear physicists, er physicisting, is under threat you can’t afford to just SIT around and give the other guy a free kick. You move and you move quickly, which is what we did and two million jobs and a $70b dollar black hole.
Thirdly: When your economy looks like being WHACKED over the fence – and “g’day” to our Australian cricketers getting ready to do battle with the Brits over there. Knock ‘em for six guys – you have to make decisive decisions and put money out there. We’ll return the budget to surplus over the economic cycle. GFC and three million jobs and a $70b black hole.
Fourthly: Our NBN is going to transform our economy. We are building the JOBS … FOR … THE … 21ST  … CENTURY. Unlike my opponent, who I assume is standing over there somewhere because I refuse to look at him, we won’t cut, cut, cut to the bone. Unlike my opponent, my government doesn’t believe in three word slogans, but I can tell you this folks, he will CUT, CUT, CUT … and, er, cut some more and four million jobs and a $70b black hole.

Diary: You said that your PNG ‘solution’ would stop the boats, but since you announced it, nearly 3000 boat people have arrived. Why should I believe your solution will work?

KFQWIHTH: That is a very nice shirt. You know, Therese always picks my shirts and I’d be a pretty happy camper if she had picked that shirt for me tonight. I wish I was wearing it. I really do.
But to the substance of your question, can I just say this?
Push factors are always going to play a role in people wanting to come here, but do you know what? Push factors aren’t everything.
Yeah, sure mate, fear of persecution has a role in helping people ply this vile trade. Can I say something else? These people smugglers are scum filth. The lowest of the low.
But, let me tell you: if I was living in Iran or Afghanistan or Sri Lanka, eking out a living in the fields, and I heard about Australia’s NBN, I’d be over here like a shot!
The NBN is already transforming our economy. Right now, as I speak, surgeons – you know, guys in face masks and stuff – are performing open heart surgery on people on the other side of this great country of ours, a country of which I have the privilege of being Prime Minister.
We also have a AAA credit rating, something never achieved before. Our debt is the second lowest among countries that enjoy a median maximum temperature of 21 degrees on the third Sundays in November. Without our response to the GFC, that wouldn’t have happened. My opponent has a $70b black hole and will cut, cut, cut to the bone.

Diary: When you were elected you said that your Government would take over hospitals, establish FuelWatch and GroceryWatch, turn back boats, work with business, establish an ETS, make evidence-based decisions, stop the reckless spending, reform Federal-State relations, not touch Superannuation or the Private Health Rebate and increase Defence spending. You haven’t done any of that. Why should we vote for you again?

KFQWIHTH: Aw, strike me pink. You’re a Liberal Party stooge aren’t you?
David, this wasn’t part of our agreement. 
Where’s Bruce?
What the fuck is going on here? Who the fuck let him in?
How many more of these pricks are in here? Bruce, you said you had it organised. Do I have to fucking do everything myself?
Nah. Fuck it. I’m leaving. Not putting up with this shit …
Diary: I think maybe you need to work on your delivery, Kevin.

KFGWIHTH: What? What’s that? Fuck you too. Ratfucker. 

Tuesday, 20 August 2013

The Krud Diaries: Day 19

Dear Diary,
                   Day 19 of die kampagne has drawn to its inevitable close and I am more convinced than ever that I have The Abbott right where I want him.
Kevin was not himse … I was not quite myself yesterday, diary.
Why is that? The voices in my head hear you ask.
Do you know something? That is just the sort of question that a naysayer would pose, when said naysayer is not in full possession of the facts.
Unlike your good self, diary, Kevin deals … I deal in facts. It is simply what I do. Firstly, you get together a whole bunch of people; secondly, you send out your bunch of people to talk to folks who have input into what you are doing; thirdly, you feed what those folks have said into the big computer we call The Cabinet; fourthly you add all of the associated data collated by another bunch of people in, say, the treasury; and fifthly, you make a decision.
Cold. Hard. Facts. Evidence. Based. Decision. Making.
That’s all there is to it, diary.
The … cold ... hard … evidence … based … fact, diary, is that I was over-whelmed by nervous tension yesterday.
I always get that way before the launch of a major offensive.
Not because I doubt myself, diary, but because I doubt my field commanders. History show us that brilliant leaders fail not because of themselves, but because their subordinates lack the will to see the job through, or lack the ability to see the Big Picture.
That is why I invested so much time and energy in talking to the troops in the field yesterday. Only I can instil in them the will to win!
Still, it is a good plan. I have set in motion an assault historians will speak of for 1000 years.
The preliminary barrage commenced two days ago on three broad fronts codenamed Seven, Nine and Ten.
I myself will lead the frontal assault from the rear in my mobile command aircraft. The rest of my dispositions are as thus:

- Deputy reisch fuhrer Albo will lead the assault in Sydney. His personally recruited force of Thai irregulars, incorporated into die SS Rub und Tug Division, will drive from the east, while von Bowen und Husic will attempt to break out from the West and drive south.
- I have abandoned the north-coast and the Hunter Valley.
Von Combet has left his post and fled to France. Von Thomson has been expelled from The Party. I have nobody left but the old and the mentally deficient. I know they will do their duty.
- On my south-eastern flank, von Shorten and his Kalte Pie Abteilung have been ordered to stand their ground. Von Cheeseman is surrounded and, I fear, cannot be extricated. I have ordered von Shorten to tighten his perimeter and attempt a breakout when support is available.
Von Cheeseman I have ordered to make Corangomite a Festung Krud. I have faith that he will die at his post.
- Wong’s Panzy Grenadiers are tasked with a two-pronged drive on Melbourne and Inner Sydney, co-ordinating with DRF Albo in Sydney and von Shorten. They will be supported by Plibersek’s 2nd ‘Das Handbag’ Division and Macklinberg breaking out from the south with her 14th ‘Gillard’s Frau’ Division.
- I have allowed myself to be talked into leaving command of my Queensland Parachute Divisions in the hand of von Beattie. It is against my better judgement. 
I feel in my very bones that von Beattie has an eye for the main chance and will tire of playing second fiddle to the conductor when our drive on Canberra proves successful.
We shall see, diary. Swanstein and von Perrett have already proven themselves traitors; Emersondorf is clearly pussy schlagsahne. I have little choice, but I shall watch Herr Beattie closely.          
- To add to my worries about my north-eastern flank, I suspect, diary, that the forces under the command of my good friend and ally Benito Katterlini, do not share his commitment. There is little I can do now, other than put Skorzeny on stand by.
To boost his confidence Katterlini must be given a task. He is to roll up Palmer’s rag-tag band of partisans.
- I have given command of the Krudler Jugend ‘Social Media’ Division to my American allies. Their performance in leading die Obama chicken-shit outfit to victory was nothing short of miraculous. I expect big things.
- I have left command of our Northern U-Turn fleet in the hands of Admiral Bradbury, but I have little faith in him, so have placed him under Admiral Burke-haulter’s overall command.
Burke-haulter is to co-ordinate a diversionary surface assault on PNG.
- With my puppet regimes in Lyne and New England overrun, I must tighten my supply lines. Accordingly, I have decided to abandon my overseas possession of Taswegia. It is a blow, but my forces there are already disintegrating. Sources tell me that von Lyon has already thrown away his uniform and is hoping to impersonate a civilian. Worse, I suspect that "Vee Villy" Vilkie's Vichy regime in the south will prove turncoat. Adams may survive, if he can leave the dining table for long enough to fight.
- What Der Abbott does not know is that I have at my disposal a fifth column, originally recruited by Carrnaris. Two entire divisions of saboteurs are in place.
Die Australian Broadcasting Corporation und Fairfax Divisionen are charged with wrecking communication behind enemy lines.
I fully expect die KK ABC Insiders Spezialeinheiten, under the command of von Marrstein, to wreak havoc in my enemy’s rear.
Casselring has titular command, but he is a mere figurehead. While Lord Haw Haw, second Earl of Snowcone will be the public face of my propaganda arm, I am convinced that, should an opening present itself, von Marrstein will lead the thrust into my enemy’s soft underbelly.
- In my Krudwaffe only do I have true faith. The Hawker Britton is a truly wunderbar machine. I am convinced that its mastery of The Abbott’s primary air weapon, the Loughnane Insipid, will lead us to final victory.
- I have abandoned the far and Middle West. Gray will do his duty, as will Ellis. They have received my order: every town and city must become a Festung Krud. They have been sacrificed for the greater glory. Nothing must distract from my drive on Canberra.

Well, diary. That is it. It is a good plan and one which I believe will succeed – as long as my subordinates believe in it, and ME.

Notes to self: Appoint minion to find architect worthy of KrudFuhrer complex; commence re-design of Canberra; continue reading The Power of Positive Thinking.


Monday, 19 August 2013

The Krud Diaries: Day 20

Dear Diary,
                   I suppose you are still in shock at my intemperate outburst yesterday.
I admit it, diary: In a moment of weakn … inattentiveness I allowed myself to be infected by the pessimism of my minions.
Panic, diary, is a disease – the sort of disease that bunches of guys in white coats deal with – so insidious it can infect an entire organisation if not stopped.
So why was I momentarily so bereft of hope as to express an opinion that had all the hallmarks, if not the intrinsic substance, of defeatism?
Well, do you want to know something?
A response to that query can only be conveyed in two parts. In the matter of the former I believe I was suffering the effects of spending too long away from civilisation.
I mean, who wouldn’t be affected by prolonged exposure to dreary outposts like Darwin, Perth and Adelaide?
My enemies Snowden, Perris, Gray, Smith, Champion, Ellis et al lurk out there in their wilderness strongholds planning their treachery.
They are nothings. I admit I was momentarily caught off-balance, but an evening of Wagner has restored my sanity.
It was Wagner inspired my new campaign slogan, diary. Would you like to hear it?
“Ein Volk, Ein Reich, Ein Kevin!”
Was meinst du dazu, mein kleiner Engel? Nein, nein, nicht zu beantworten ... Ich weiß, es ist brillantI
I can’t explain where it came from, other than to say that ich bin Kevin. Kennedy was a tyro compared to Kevin.
I can’t wait to tell Bruce tomorrow.As I said, diary, it is so nice to be back in the civilised world. Well, not Western Sydney, obviously. Nobody could call THAT place civilized.
I didn’t want to go there, but Bruce insisted that I do – sigh, I suppose the little people must see their leader.
I should never have doubted him, that most faithful of retainers. You would not believe my joy when I arrived at the park and found it full of sycophants and lickspittles.
It was so nice to be back amongst genuine friends. I don’t think it is stretching the truth to declare that I felt their love, diary
A thousand years from now, that park will be a shrine; people will visit, bow their heads and remember the place where Kevin Volk inspiriert!
Naturally I took the time to spend some more money – it was for some hospital or some such. Naturally, it is not my money – for some reason Therese won’t tell me the pin numbers – but that just makes it so much more pleasurable!
It is actually the Ratfuckers’ money! Perhaps I have misjudged them at Copenhagen, diary: Ratfuckers they may be, but every time I ask for an extension on my credit card limit they fall over themselves to agree.
Have I told you the best part? I don’t even have to pay the money back! Isn’t that wonderful?
I get to spend it on buying votes for myself, and the little people have to pay it back!
Of course, they won’t have to pay it ALL back. I shall broker a deal for a discount by trading Tasmania to the Ratfuckers  in return for a discount off the principle.
I think it’s the principle. I’m not actually sure what that is – Therese handles all of the money thingy questions.
They tell me that, once in their possession, they shall rename the island Krudmania.
I called for a round of applause for the little Frau today. I didn’t have to, of course, but I felt it appropriate. She was most impressed. Thank fuck!
For some unaccountable reason, she was angry with me tonight. I can’t imagine why: one minute I was in the toilet giving myself a … taking a selfie with the Danii-from-Perth pic and the next minute the little-ish woman is throwing complimentary shampoo and conditioner at Kevin.
Naturally, diary, Kevin used his irresistible charm to soothe her. She has such lovely skin, meine Knödel einer Frau, and there is so much of it … so lovely and supple ...
Kevin says it will eat what it is given.
Kevin says it will put Precious in the bucket.
Kevin says it will eat what it is given AND put precious in the bucket NOW!
Kevin says if it doesn’t put Precious in the bucket NOW then Kevin will put on his night-vision goggles and get ANGRY!
It wouldn’t like Kevin if Kevin was angry.
What is that, diary? Why is Kevin talking in the third person?
I wasn’t! I have no idea what you are talking about.
Still, it is odd, diary, that you should ask that. Why, just today – THE FLIES! THE FLIES! THEY ARE ALL AROUND ME! GET THEM AWAY FROM ME BEFORE THEY EAT MY EYES! –
I heard these whispers … FUCKING FLIES … about my health, but I can’t imagine why - überall! Sie werden mich nie - Why, I am fit as a fiddle. I have a heart of a lion and can suck a sav through a garden hose!
Oh! I forgot. I have saved the best till last. Guess what, diary, guess what?
When I was giving my speech to my devoted lickspittles today I overheard a snatch of conversation from amongst my minions. What I overheard was “… fucking Fuhrer complex …”.
Naturally, I questioned my minions about this. At first they denied all knowledge, but I persisted, knowing that Bruce could not resist the power of the Kevin.
Oh, diary! When I am crown … am prime minister again they are going to build me the “biggest fucking Fuhrer complex” ever as a present!
The little minx’s! I knew it, I knew it! I am planning it already. I will have my own bunker, and a swimming pool, and Teddy and Bruce will have rooms next to mine!

Notes to self: Show Therese that I am deleting selfie with BFF Danii (send it to Bruce first); make sure indoor pool included in Fuhrer complex plans; get minion to get REALLY BIG pins for The Abbott voodoo doll.

Sunday, 18 August 2013

The Krud Diaries: Days 22, 21

Dear Diary,
                   Sigh. How good it is to be back filling your pages with myself again.
I wish I could have been with you last night, dear diary, but I was trapped in a dreary meeting with my so-called ‘advisors’. As if they could ‘advise’ ME about anything!
I had to sit there while they droned on about polls, of all things.
I didn’t bother feigning interest, of course. After all, it is irrelevant whether the people like my caucus drones or not, they will all be voting for ME.
They wailed that the polls were saying that Beattie was going to get flogged in Forde. Indeed, diary, I am heart-broken the USURPER will not win a seat – ha, ha, I made a little funny there.
There is only ONE saviour from Queensland, diary, and that saviour is ME!
Admiral Bradbury is going to lose his seat in Sydney? The cretin who said that he loves Ju … Jul … That Woman, so much that he wanted a tattoo of her on his arse is going to lose his seat and they want me to cry about it?
As Dietrich Bonhoeffer would have said: gut, boo fuckin 'hoo, fick die snivelling kleinen Stich!
Perth was so ho hum. I threw a few million bucks at some research thing for a floating something-or-other. Bruce knocked up that policy on the plane on the way down from Darwin.
It was something to do with the oil and gas industry, apparently, but what’s a few million bucks when I’m going to tax the fuckers back into the stone age when I am crowne … re-elected?
There is not much else to tell about Western Australia. I met Allanah What’s-her-face, who is running in Smithy’s old seat and boy-oh-boy diary, a picture may say a thousand words, but photoshop can remove a thousand years.
The whole day would have been a boo hoo borefest but for my new BFF, Danii.
They sai … she said she thought I was wonderful. I said that I thought she was the breas … best advertisement for the ALP ever. Then she said she thought I was looking tired and would I like for her to give me a fitness tit … tip. Then I said that I had to ni … that I had to zip.
That idiot Bissett – I think that is his name – kept staring at her assets, but it was ME she wanted the selfie with. He’s got the memory, but KEVIN has the picture!
Fuck Perth.
I spent today in Adelaide, diary. The City of Churches – a photo opportunity on every corner!
I threw half a billion at the unions … car industry. By golly, diary, it feels good to spend money, especially when it isn’t my own – most especially when I don’t have to find it for five years!
Naturally, I wanted to bestow my largesse immediately, but apparently Bowen isn’t very good at sums. He’s likeable enough, but he has a lot to learn about being a true sycophant.
One of the few useful idiots in the media still to be converted to my cause, tried to make a brouhaha about me praising Ford workers at a Holden factory, but that was a mere trifle.
Holden parts, Ford parts? All made in China!
Did you like that mein kleiner engel?
I confess I borrowed it from the same source that gave me the inspiration for Little Gracie.
Do you remember Gracie? She wrote me a lovely little letter begging me to save her from climate Armageddon all those years ago when climate change was a sure-fire vote winner.
Did you discern my little clue there, diary? Here is another clue: when I casually intimated to my minions my belief that I bore more than a passing resemblance to Bruce Willis, to a man they agreed with me – not that they had any choice, of course, the parallels between myself and Harry Stampfer are too uncanny to ignore!
Where am I going with this, you ask?
Do you know something? That is a very good question and thankyou for asking.
I’m not sure myself, diary. Perhaps I am fatigued. Perhaps I have fallen prey to the DENIERS amongst my minions who are expressing the view that Kevin may l … lo …. los … no, I refuse to believe that my public do not love me.
They loved me today at the bbq my minions arranged for the little people at For … Holden.
Of course, I knew they were cooking the snags all wrong, I mean, fair suck of the sav, but what else could I do but take over? Why, oh why, am I the only one who can do everything properly?
There were some mutterings from the back that the sausages were burnt, but that is only because the unwashed don’t realise that carbon is good for them.
Oh, diary. There are enemies all about me: don’t they know that Australia will die without Krud?
I admit it. OK, I fuckin’ admit it. I think the party is going to lose. There, I’ve said it.
I won’t lose – as if! – but the party will lose because it doesn’t truly BELIEVE. IN ME.
They are going to lose. They are going to lose. They are going to lose.
Sob. Goodnight diary.

Notes to self: Send minion to buy The Power of Positive Thinking – dispose of minion afterwards; start listening to Wagner again – fuck Ned Flanders; order minion to do to me what photoshop has done for that Allanah woman.