The Krud Diaries: Day 7

Dear Diary,

                   I need to write quietly tonight, my friend, lest my enemies hear what I telling you.

They are all around me now, meine liebe, doing everything they can to thwart me. I hear them whispering, constantly, plotting but when I confront them they protest their innocence.

Well, let me just say this, diary: they must think me a fool if they believe that Kevin isn’t aware of what they are up to.

There are only two people left I can completely trust, diary: Kevin and Teddy.

What’s that? I hear you ask. Can I not trust Bruce, the loyalest lickspittle a Great Leader can hope for?

Do you know something, diary? I’m very glad you asked that question because it is something I have pondered long and hard over for some years.

When you make the decision to commit to public service, as I have done, concomitant with that concrete commitment is a concurrent obligation to cultivate likeminded folk to co-habit the collective collaborative consciousness, such as would prevail within the personal and professional policy platform proposed, though quite probably not publicly espoused by the chief proponent, a proponent which, in this instance, would be personified in the public’s perception by the figurehead I referred to earlier in my remarks, in this case, dear diary, myself.

I really don’t believe I could put forward the proposition any clearer than that.

Oh diary! Why is it only you that understands me?     

But, to return to my earlier point on this; when I made the aforesaid commitment to dedicate myself to public service, I found in Bruce the embodiment of the sort of likeminded folk a Great Leader requires in a lickspittle.

Or so I thought. It hasn’t escaped my attention, my diary, that Bruce has not been acting in my best interests of late.

Today, for instance, we went to Darwin. He knows full well, as do you from an earlier missive penned by my good self, that I loathe Darwin. In fact, I loathe the Northern Territory in all of its grubby little third-world entirety.

(I was clearly right when I made the decision to flog the place to the Rathfuckers once my hold on power is unassailable.)

But, Kevin, what about the special economic zone you announced earlier? I hear you ask.

Oh, diary, you are almost as witty as my good self!

That was a brilliant kampagne ploy, nothing more. Such was it brilliance, The Abbott had no counter and the evil Murdoch’s media minions were so completely bamboozled by my forensic grasp of the detail I rendered them impotent.

I will never carry through with it, of course. The Territorians are undeserving. A grubby little people, diary. Why, many of them don’t even wear shoes. My Australia will not be populated by such raggle-taggle riff raff. The Ratfuckers will be welcome to it.

Bruce, of course, is aware of these self-evident truths, yet still he sent me there. Do you see now, diary, why I was right to suspect his loyalty? The evidence is unimpeachable, as you will agree when you consider the core components that, in combination, can only lead to a clear conclusion of collusion.

Firstly, the vile Giles, one of The Abbott’s underlings, refused me access to a medical centre – a facility I paid for with MY Ratfucker money.

How is it, meine liebe, that Kevin was denied access to Kevin’s own building?

Secondly; the vile Giles was obviously made aware of my intention to confer upon the facility the benefit of my presence.

Thirdly; while I was trapped outside with un-vetted little people a malcontent heckled me. ME!

Consider: The Krud never appears anywhere unless hi … my minions have first rounded up all malcontents, yet this agent of The Abbott was able to violate my person with impunity.

Who have I entrusted with command of my brown shir … my minions, diary?

Bruce.

Consider also this: The vile Giles would not have been able to defy me unless he had advance notice of my plans. I only conceived the brilliant policy, and the venue for its announcement, when I was in my private toilet aboard Krud 1 taking a selfie as we were coming in to land.

Who was the only other person privy to my brilliant plan?

Bruce.

No, diary, the truth is clear: I am betrayed. My enemies are all about me, but this betrayal by a trusted underling is hardest to take.

Did I not raise him above his station?

Did I not pluck him from the obscurity of advising provincial underlings?

Fuck ‘im. I shall allow him to believe he still has my trust, but after I assume supreme comma … my Prime Ministership he will feel the wrath of the Krud.

Oh diary, I am so alone. In NSW mein Wahlkampf-Hauptquartier is riddled with quislings seeking to undermine me at every turn and I am plagued by the windvane, Sam Dastardly. Queensland foisted the USURPER Beattie on me. WA photo-shopped the MacTiernan woman, but not me. South Australia is a worthless wasteland and Victoria is a hotbed of the spies and playthings of That Woman.

My only adherents are Bowen and Wong, both incompetent, and Deputy-Reich Fuhrer Albo, whose green teeth betray the tell-tale signs of moral decay.

What of Billy The Rat? I hear you ask. Trust a man who has turned his coat more times than Ban Ki Moon has begged me to replace him? I think not, diary.

No diary, my only friend who has stayed true to the bitter end is dear, dear Goebe … Teddy.

I have laid a further trap for Bruce. At tomorrow’s Nurembu … kampagne launch I will announce an increase in the instant asset write-off for small business.

This is meaningless, of course. It is a nonce policy. If I have no idea what ‘instant asset write-off’ is, then it is clear it will mean nothing to anybody else.

If this plan is leaked to the Murdoch media minions, I will know that the betrayal is complete.

Notes to self: Trust nobody; get minion to purchase more piano wire and meat-hooks; bestow Order of The Krud upon Teddy.