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13 August 2014

by Bob Ellis

The Three Worst Things The Liberals Did Yesterday

Abbott said he was in a Cold War with the country that had not shot down MH 17, though it was at war with the country that had. He would ‘bring the murderer to justice,’ Abbott swore, provided he was not Ukrainian. He then vowed he would not join America’s new war in Iraq, but restrict himself to ‘humanitarian aid’. This aid did not, however, include accepting any Christian refugees fleeing crucifixion, beheading and being buried alive. They would be treated as ‘illegals’ and sent to Cambodia, a welcoming place for those beginning new lives, especially in the field of child prostitution. Morrison, denying he existed, flew to Cambodia to sort it. Asked how his new deal differed from slavery, he said slavery was an ‘on-water matter’ he was forbidden by someone called Angus to talk about, and he always did what Angus told him to.

Joe Hockey bought a Chinese meal for Clive Palmer, and afterwards over port, cigars and panda’s gonads imagined he might, just might, accept, say, a co-payment imposed on the comfortably off, but not on the old or ill or impoverished. Clive played him along, and after sixteen hours came crashing down on him like a ton of kiwi fruit and said ‘sucked in’. This left Joe with no Budget at all, pretty much, and looking like the silliest fat man since Oliver Hardy; cracking hardy, you might say; and smiling broadly, sincerely and sweatily, the way he does when thwarted. He had some more champagne over breakfast. Then he said on radio higher petrol prices would not disadvantage the lower orders much, because none of them had a car. He lit another cigar, had a champagne morning tea and looked amazed when some ute-driving farmers called him ‘insensitive’. His surviving Hockadoodledooney relatives in Gaza put their heads in their hands, and winced as another bomb fell on a neighbour, and wished that he would call.

Two Liberals, Owen and Cornwell, resigned from parliament and prepared themselves for imprisonment for bribe-taking. This left Baird, the Premier, with two inconvenient byelections, a probable swing of fourteen to eighteen percent against him, and the certainty that Robbo, of all people, would be Premier in March, and his tall stern father Bruce had been right to advise him to stay the hell out of politics. Then, after a night of prayer and self-flagellation and a morning run on the beach he prepared himself for imprisonment also. Or else a highly embarrassing day in court. How many criminals did you knowingly employ? the beak might ask, over half-moon spectacles. No, no, count them. Count them.

A federal swing like that in Ashcroft, quite likely now, or so some jaded Pymble spinmen gloomily computed, would leave Abbott with three seats, not including his own.
The bells tolled with an iron dullness for Abbott and his kind. He ended the day uncertain if he would go to war or not; or, if in Syria, on what side. He had lately condemned a man for beheading an Assadite, and said he would go by heck to gaol for it. He also said any pro-Assadite would go to gaol too by heck; and any anti-Assadite, like Doctors Without Borders, Red Cross or Tim Costello, had better fucking watch it.