THE TIME IS NOW

My fellow Australians,

An election has now been set down for September, and it is never more than at those moments when an election is set down for September that good-hearted patriots must turn their thoughts lightly to what they might DO for their country. A true patriot doesn't just THINK, he DOES, and today I can honestly say that I am ready to DO what it takes. The Australian people deserve ACTION, and that's what I deliver here now.

That is correct, today I announce my candidacy for the post of Australian Prime Minister.

As a patriot, I believe in this country. I believe in mateship, and outbacks, and the flag.

That's the Australian flag, and if a lifetime of Australian has taught me one thing, it's that a flag is not just a flag, it's a way of life. And it's my way of life, and if living the flag lifestyle is against the law these days then I guess just lock me up and call me Mr Jail.

Running for prime minister is not a decision I take lightly: every prime minister should take these decisions heavily, and if elected I promise my decisions will be twenty percent heavier than my opponents' at all times. The Australian people deserve heavy decisions, and as a politician I consider myself a slave to the Australian people. Chain me up Australian people, I am ready to work your plantations.

It's not just hollow rhetoric that causes me to say that mateship is my religion. The Australian people deserve more than hollow rhetoric, and I promise that if elected, I will give them more more-than-hollow rhetorics per day than any other politician in history. That's what mateship means to me, and the Australian people deserve mateship more than ever in today's modern world.

A great Australia doesn't just happen overnight. I promise not to make a great Australia happen overnight with the last breath in my body, and that's a promise you can take to the bank. But what you can't take to the bank is a bad economy, and that is why I promise to give the Australian people the economy they deserve which is not a bad one.

Under my prime ministership, the economy will be not only robust, but expansionary. The Australian people deserve economic security, and I promise that their security will be more economic than ever. The Australian people are sick of governments spending like drunken sailors, and that's why I am making a solid, rolled-gold, rigor mortis commitment to spending like sailors who have not drunk very much at all. The sailors I spend like will practise moderation, while enjoying a glass or two of red wine to unwind at the end of the day. The Australian people deserve heart-smart sailors, and there's no doubt that when the budget is in balance we'll enjoy our economy all the more. A strong economy is the foundation of a strong country, and I believe in a strong country which is this one.



That country is strong, and it's from our strength that we draw our power. The Australian people deserve strength, which is why as prime minister I will work out every day almost with weights and everything.

Part of being strong is industrial relations, and as an industrial relationist I promise that my prime ministership will be full of fairness. The Australian people deserve fairness, and fairness is more than anything the thing I will be fair about.

The environment is also important and I support it. The Australian people deserve an environment.

Why am I running now? I am running because I love my country. I love its men and its women and its animals and its grass and its trees. The Australian people deserve a prime minister who loves Australia. I promise to love Australia more than my opponents and I promise to show this love in several ways.



I am committed to loving Australia even more than I love other countries. I love things like kangaroos and Tasmanian tigers and vegemite jandals, and I have made a full and firm commitment to keep loving everything about Australia until I die and even afterwards if my brain is intact and can be put into a machine that breathes and things. The Australian people deserve my love now more than ever, especially with the internet transforming our modern world into a terrifying wasteland. The Australian people deserve a world-class terrifying wasteland and it is that wasteland that I promise to love more and more every day.

Australia is about families, and as prime minister I promise to have a family more than any prime minister before myself. The Australian people deserve families, and I have the power to grant that through my grace and commitment. The Australian people deserve my grace and commitment and to hell with anyone who says otherwise. As prime minister I will never say otherwise.

My fellow Australians, it is time to get this country moving forward again. As a freedom-loving plutocratist, I believe in forward movement, and I believe that the Australian people deserve a country that moves forward. Never again will our country have to move backward due to a weak economy or rabbit plagues. The Australian people deserve sustainable rabbit populations, and on my first day in office I will sustainabilise every rabbit in this great sunburnt country. The Australian people deserve sustainable sunburns.

Over the coming months and weeks I look forward to sharing with you more of the vision for our future that we deserve as we move forward and not sideways or up. The Australian people deserve a country that moves only on one axis. My fellow Australians, the fightback starts HERE.

Thanks, you all.

Guerrilla Halal!

Some bigots refuse to eat meat that has been turned towards Mecca and blessed. Ben Pobjie has some bad news for them: you never know where or when the Halal Guerillas will strike.

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25 MORE SIGNS YOU ARE A WRITER

One of the things I worry about the most while writing is the question of whether I actually am a writer. "Am I?" I ask myself, frettingly biting my nails. "If only I knew the signs to look out for!"

So what a piece of luck that I found this helpful article to let me know the little signs that indicate whether someone is a writer or not. For example:

6. When you hear the words “I’m on deadline,” you immediately burst into action, a Pavlovian response to a) always having something due and b) always being behind on it. You’re certain that if they were able to make your procrastination into an energy source, it will solve our nation’s fuel crisis. Or at least make gas cheaper.

Ha! Isn't that priceless. "Fuel crisis"! Oh my yes, we writers certainly do like to procrastinate, don't we?

Or this classic:

11. You have really weird dreams about writing or your favorite writers — like that you suddenly have a great idea for a story but then your computer eats you or that you’re best friends with Emily Dickinson — which, truth be told, is a little boring. Agoraphobes aren’t great partiers. You also dreamt that you were the manager of a Bronte sisters girl group. Charlotte was the Beyonce, Emily was the Kelly and Anne was the Michelle, the one everyone forgets about. 

Oh mercy! Pop culture, eh?

Or how about this:

23. You never stop writing something after you’re done with it, which makes publishing difficult. Eventually you just put a gun to your head and say, “Screw it, I’m done with this.” (Which is how Obama must feel every day.) You’ll later come up with the perfect ending for that piece — a month after publishing it. 

Now this is just adorable. And so true, too - every writer knows that it is impossible to finish writing something, until you do. Life is hard, for writers. Yet also cute and whimsical.

But those 25 signs, as irresistibly truthful and hilarious as they are, just aren't enough, you know? There are so many other ways to decide whether you're a writer or not, even if you don't have an erotic fixation with typewriters or waste all your money on awful tattoos. And so to provide further help to my brothers and sisters in words, and to pay tribute to "Nico Lang", I've come up with my

25 MORE SIGNS YOU'RE A WRITER

1. You are, essentially, better than other people.

2. Not only do you carry a pen everywhere, but you constantly hallucinate that there are pens that aren't actually there, and frequently startle passersby with your loud cries of "Ho! Pens!"

3. You are an alcoholic.

4. You write inspirational-yet-incomprehensible slogans on pieces of cardboard like "failure is the first step towards the second step" or "all writing is rewriting" and stick them up on your walls so you can look at them and get a warm glow while you read a magazine profile on Nikki Gemmell.

5. You tell people that you just let the characters take you where they want you to go and don't notice that this makes you sound insane.

6. You literally eat ink.

7. You dress up as your favourite characters from literary history and appear uninvited at strangers' parties bellowing their most memorable lines (see point 3).

8. You slowly begin to metamorphose into a book.

9. You kidnap your editor's children and threaten to slaughter them if they delete a single word from your piece. You do this every week and everyone is used to it by now.

10. You eventually find your typewriter too modern and begin carving all your work into massive stone tablets, which you hurl out your window in a fit of despair after realising you'll never be as great a writer as Kathy Lette.

11. Your name is JK Rowling.

12. When you hear the words "I'm on deadline", you immediately bite whoever said it on the leg, a Pavlovian response to the fact that you used to bite people on the leg pretty often.

13. You have a tattoo of the face of your favourite writer covering your entire face, so you can impersonate them.

14. You often sit in cafes holding a pen against your cheek with a thoughtful-yet-cute expression on your darling little face.

15. You occasionally write something.

16. You are morbidly obese and unable to leave your bed, communicating by hurling Doritos in meaningful patterns on the carpet.

17. You have become firmly convinced that you are a Canadian goose and accuse everyone you meet of stealing your eggs, and I don't know you write a story about this or something maybe.

18. You have an almost insatiable desire to commit acts of violence upon members of your immediate family.

19. You have lost control of your bowels.

20. You keep complaining that sport gets more funding than the arts and so you have no friends.

21. You plan to make everyone pay someday.

22. You own more than fifty high-powered assault weapons.

23. Your muscles have atrophied from lack of use and there is a spider living in your mouth.

24. You can't stop writing lists of signs that you are a writer to reassure yourself that your entire life is not a futile sham concocted by your self-delusive brain in order to avoid facing reality in any way whatsoever.

25. You have just been arrested for molesting a horse.

A True Larrykin

If there is one thing I love, it's a larrikin. Know what I mean? A good old-fashioned, mischievous, good-humoured, larrikinish larrikin, the kind of larrikin that made Australia what it is today: i.e. a country full of larrikins.

The trouble, of course, is that although this country is full of larrikins, we are ruled over by a bunch of decided non-larrikins. Our politicians are all so soft and wishy-washy and feminised they wouldn't know larrikinism if it jumped up and shoved a sugar glider down their pants.

Our media is decidedly non-larrikinish too. Michelle Grattan is a poor excuse for a larrikin. And with the best will in the world, I think you'd have to concede that Ross Gittins is very far from being the intellectual heir of famed SCG wag "Yabba" Gascoigne. In fact, the entire press gallery is not the intellectual heir of famed SCG wag "Yabba" Gascoigne, and it seems a bit of a shame that the media watchdog is so obsessed with so-called "cash for comment", and never gives the slightest thought to redressing the lack of "Yabba"-resemblers in our media landscape.

However, we need not immerse ourselves entirely in gloom, because there is one man willing to stand up for tradition and patriotism and not-climate change left in our great nation, and that man is Larry Pickering.

Pickering has been one of our greatest larrikins for decades, of course, his larrikinish cartoons bringing joy to millions and keeping alive the larrikin flame that has been burning bright since Gallipoli, when the Anzacs staved off the horrors of war with cheeky japes and drawings of Billy Hughes's cock.

It is in that tradition that Pickering continues to hold the "stuffed shirts" to account on his website, and in particular in brave, truthful-yet-larrikiny pieces like this one, in which he exposes the monstrous threat to our democracy that is Anne Summers and her radical femo-socialist agenda, finally pricking that balloon of man-hating, excessive body hair and mandatory lesbianism that has been hovering over the great southern land ever since Paul Keating rammed through legislation that allowed women to exit buildings.

In the best larrikin tradition, of course, Pickering is not a vindictive man. He is slow to anger, but sharp as a tack and full of boisterous and wittily logical argumentation when roused, and this was no exception. As he writes:

I had never heard of a person called Ann Summers (not sure Ann is with or without an "e" and I couldn't care less really) until she said somewhere that my scribblings were responsible for Jill Meagher's murder.

See how he first demonstrates how he is the bigger man - he had not even heard of Summers, because he has better things to do, like defending our democracy. He emphasises how far above the pettiness of the world by indicating that he doesn't even care how Summers's name is spelt. This is a good sign of a lofty mind.

But then we get to the nub: the reason why any man of good conscience would speak up at this point: Summers accused Larry Pickering of being responsible for Jill Meagher's death.

What's worse, she did it "somewhere": if there is anything worse than a woman who calls an innocent man a murderer, it is a woman who calls an innocent man a murderer in an indeterminate and ill-defined location. Luckily, I've sleuthed a tad and found out exactly what Summers said in this disgraceful smear. Her words are as follows (be warned it is fairly strong stuff):

I just saw television footage of thousands of people walking in a peace march along Sydney Road past Hope Street to honour the memory of Jill Meagher. It was a beautiful sight and a powerful reminder that for all the Alan Joneses of this world, most Australians are decent honourable people who are disgusted by this culture of vilification and violence.

I'm sorry I had to put that on the blog, but you had to know how depraved "radical womanhood" (god Pickering has a way with words) can get. Look at that paragraph. "It was a beautiful sight" she writes. "Most Australians are decent honourable people". "I just saw television footage".

VOMIT.

We know what you're saying. You can couch in separatist anarchist neo-Greerist psychobabble all you like, Ann(e), but when you write "disgusted", we can read between the lines: you are saying that Larry Pickering murdered Jill Meagher. We're onto you. What a revolting accusation.

But all good larrikins know how to make freedom-lemonade out of feminazi lemons, and Pickering does so by taking the opportunity to expose the misandry and harridanism at the heart of public life. Having gone to notorious communo-hotbed "The Drum", a website run by the ABC Politburo, Pickering found more of Summers's "work". Like any red-blooded larrikin, Pickering "couldn't bring myself to read it closely", and who could blame him? But reading things is unnecessary to identify radical agendas - indeed it can be counterproductive. The important thing is that in his article he draws, with uncanny plausibility, a direct line between Summers, her big fans Christine Milne and Lee "Uncle Joe" Rhiannon, the plummeting value of Whitehaven Coal shares, Tanya Plibersek's husband-fronted drug operation, child sex, drink-driving, fraud, and prunes. It's a vast conspiracy and it takes a journalistic mind of remarkable acuity to pull it all together so neatly, but that's what Pickering has done, and it's a relief to us all I'm sure that he's manning the parapets as Castle Australia is assaulted by this army of green red pink warmenist homosexual vagina-owning orcs.

And it's those aforementioned prunes, the ones clogging up Summers's reproductive tract, that as Pickering notes, are the whole problem, as they have led to this she-beast breathing fire all over our constitutional rights and causing us to not only have to stand an "elected" prime minister with ill-fitting jackets, but also enabled the violent, financial and sexual crimes of the modern Australian Labor Party. Thanks a lot Anne, you armpit-hair-encouraging, child-molester-enabling, economy-destroying, lipstick-flaunting "writer". You have wrecked Australia and now we may as well live in Afghanistan, if it's not already infested by all the feminists which Larry Pickering's blog commenters wish to send there.

So all power to you, Larry Pickering. You are not only a savvy journalist and a masterful artist, you are a patriot, a freedom fighter, and most improtantly, a larrikin of rare note. Don't listen to those who wish to silence you, who wish to repress the truth. Don't listen when they tag you "sexist" or "misogynist" or "racist" or "insane" or "a bankrupt serial conman" or "a sad old derelict sniggering at his own dick-pictures" or "a rambling maniac who can't even concentrate on one thing for the five minutes it would take to compose a coherent blog post".

Don't listen to any of them, Larry. We TRUE Aussies know what you are, and we salute you for it. As your loyal reader "gungit" notes:

"Why is it all the ugly woman are so prejudiced?"

Exactly. EXACTLY.

A low down dirty shame

OK so I need to talk about this comic, which I found through the @EverydaySexism twitter account. Have a look, we'll continue below.





So, this roused great emotions within me, not because the behaviour depicted in the comic is horrible, awful, heinous behaviour. I mean, it IS, but that fact isn't what gets me going.

What gets me going is that apparently this actually happens.

Seriously - it doesn't just happen in comics. I know women, and I hear women tell stories, and situations like the one in the comic happen. In real life.

Isn't that insane? I mean, I know that stuff like this happens, but most of the time I don't think about it, and whenever I do think about it, I feel like I've just found out that Die Hard is based on a true story.

Because that...that is just not the way human beings behave. Is it? Obviously it is. Obviously there are a bunch of actual, human, grown adult male people who go around shouting obscenities at women they don't even know.

And I can't fathom that. My mind's gears loudly grind when it tries to process this thought.

Because here's the thing: I'm not a very good guy. On any objective scale, I am a weak-willed, cowardly, thoughtless, selfish, greedy, lazy, uninteresting, socially inept man. This I know. This, I think, is not a secret.

But there is one thing I can say in my favour: it has never occurred to me to shout "show us your tits" at a woman in public. It has never occurred to me to call a woman I don't know a slut because she doesn't enjoy the experience of being sexually harassed. It has never occurred to me to make sexual advances to a stranger at all, let alone one who is simply passing by exhibiting no signs of wishing to be subjected to loud, braying comments upon her physical appearance. Whatever such signs may look like: I don't really know.

And when I say it has never occurred to me, I don't mean that I look at women in the street and make a considered decision not to yell at them. I mean the thought that this might actually be a course of action open to me has never even entered my head. I've never had to make this decision, because I have never, in my entire life, found myself in a situation where I've thought, hmm, maybe I could shout "Nice boobs!" at that lady.

Never. Not once has this happened. Never have I had to weigh the advisability of acting like the men in that comic, because never has my mind even entertained the possibility that I could. Thinking about whether I should harass women on the street is basically in the same category, for me, as thinking about whether I should travel across the Pacific standing upright on the wing of a 737: it's just not an option. The reason I've never had to make a decision about shouting "Show us your tits" is the same reason I've never had to make a decision about eating a live rhinoceros.

And that's why I don't get it: how can these men actually be behaving this way? How can human minds actually not only contain the outright ludicrous concept of publicly bellowing sexually aggressive inanities at someone you've never met, but go on to decide that acting on the thought would be a good expenditure of time and breath?

How? How can this happen in real life?

And yet it does happen in real life, and it's a disgrace. A disgrace for many reasons, but most of all, for this: these men make me look good.

As mentioned before, I'm not much of a man. I am, essentially, lame. But compared to these guys - who seem to be quite numerous - I appear to be some kind of patron saint of sensitive modern masculinity. They are making me look fantastic in contrast to themselves. It therefore becomes possible for me to give myself big ups, to portray myself as a really sensationally nice guy, simply by behaving at a sort of base level of civilised human decency. I'm not really being nice, I'm just being barely ordinary and maintaining a fairly unexceptional belief that the people around me are human beings irrespective of what kind of fleshy lumps their body might be sporting. But when I see other men behaving in the manner detailed above, I feel like I'm actually a pretty nice guy.

The fact is, these guys are giving me a good name. And that is just plain wrong.