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 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
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 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.
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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