Chapter 9: The Chalice gets passed around
Many were those who sipped (some even slurped) from the Chalice this past week. One who veritably guzzled was unionist sans visage, Jackie Howe. He left his blue singlet at home, the better to mingle with a torrent of trendy capitalists at the launch of his tome without a face. Nor was he inclined to delicacy in his treatment of that likely lad, Our Kevvie. No, it was a bucket of bile for poor Kevvie who was shorn of his fleece better than old Jackie could ever do a sheep. Haydo, the former drover’s dog, once introduced the term to flense into our local political lexicon and young Jackie seems very taken with the concept, leaving Kevvie an ideal candidate for Fiona Wood’s spray-on skin. And these are notional comrades-in-arms! Even Cleopatra would be askance at clutching this one to her bosom.
But Kevvie – who thought we’d ever remember him with something approaching sentiment? – had his comeuppance. Having reprised his diplomatic skills during recent whirlwind wanderings around the globe, he was able to do a soft-shoe shuffle with Hills Hoist, the Presidentess-in-waiting. And such a gay and hearty it was. His new best girl – who it must be acknowledged chooses her words with such skill and certainty that nary a slip passes twixt her lip and microphone – adorned him with the old token of affection: Prime Minister. Well, wasn’t he chuffed! Yes, his office later sanitised the term in the official record but for days the nation was bathed in the brilliant glare of a supernova that was just Kevvie’s new-found smile. Watch out, Mother Theresa, the US-Aussie alliance may be about to get a going-over.
Queen Julia herself kept imbibing from the Chalice as the peasants recorded their displeasure at the continuance of her ‘real’ persona. Newspoll suggests they don’t actually dislike her but are finding it hard to take a shine to her portrayal of her starring role as the nation’s Boss Cocky. Mind you, monarchs are rarely troubled by the platitudes of the peasants so we can expect her to sail serenely on. Though, when travelling to distant parts, her epistles to assembled throngs do need some work.
The Queen’s recent Grand Tour of the region appeared to leave heads of government speechless with her rabid rants on the topic of “Build it and they will come”. No-one was able to quite grasp her proclivity for a fabulous new resort at Timor L’Este. Indeed, few appeared to know just where TL is, far less why The Great South Land would want to build a massive resort there for Indians, Sri Lankans, Afghanis and Pakistanis. No doubt their diplomatic enquiries would have revealed that no-one in the south land understands it either. A mystery to us all!
And then there was the Duck With An Abacus: the one who looks as though he is forced to carry the Chalice with him everywhere these days. Treasurers have for decades been able to wax lyrical every so often about the benefits of a strong dollar but poor old Swannee appears likely to be poleaxed by a little Aussie dollar on steroids. His recent budget update was masterful as he announced the finding of another $10 billion black hole in his sums without even shedding a tear. Tremendous poise, Treasurer! And we all eagerly await the denouement of his faithful promise that the budget will return to surplus regardless of these cataclysmic conniptions.
But The Duck’s poise may be shaken even more by the public disclosure (until now kept under wraps by the mandarins’ shrouds of secrecy) that the NBN poses economic risks. Who would have thought? But, again, this Treasurer is not for turning. Promises to be like watching a road accident unfold.
Nor is it only characters who populate our national Political Play School who get to sup from The Poisoned Chalice. No, that pleasure is now bestowed on all the citizenry of Sydney thanks to the great salt shaker at Kurnell. It’s one of those stupendous screw-ups that make mere mortals wonder what the hell ever goes on in the minds of the would-be clever dicks of the world. You see, this $2 billion source of salvation for a parched land was built on the premise that ocean currents in the vicinity only ever flow one way – to the south. But, wonder of wonders, someone has now pointed out that, in fact, the currents flow north – about a third of the time. This takes the lovely, luscious leftovers of society from the Cronulla sewage outfall right up past the ever-sucking intake of the Kurnell salt shaker. And, thanks to what is described as the impact of a cold eddy, we are told the current has done this for the past week! Raise a glass, Sydney, you’re drinking it! And they reckon Queenslanders are unsophisticated! Tee, hee
But, in a pleasant end to all this poison-sipping, we gained guidance and insight from the Yankees’ former First Lady: and what a prime lady she proved to be. Hills Hoist squired (and that might indeed be the word) our very own Queen around Melbourne, showing her how to work a media audience, indeed any audience. Hills so adroitly massaged the emotions of those around her that Queen Julia’s lower lip was seen, on occasion, to drop slightly and quiver. Just as Madama Blanchett magnificently and mysteriously melds all others into a miasma, so the Hoist demonstrates sheer class so effortlessly that it bewilders the brain akin to Harry Houdini’s feats of escapism. Fabians everywhere will be praying that the Queen learned some tricks while being so up close and personal.
The Poisoned Chalice
In Humour, Political comment, Political satire on November 11, 2010 at 2:47 pmChapter 9: The Chalice gets passed around
Many were those who sipped (some even slurped) from the Chalice this past week. One who veritably guzzled was unionist sans visage, Jackie Howe. He left his blue singlet at home, the better to mingle with a torrent of trendy capitalists at the launch of his tome without a face. Nor was he inclined to delicacy in his treatment of that likely lad, Our Kevvie. No, it was a bucket of bile for poor Kevvie who was shorn of his fleece better than old Jackie could ever do a sheep. Haydo, the former drover’s dog, once introduced the term to flense into our local political lexicon and young Jackie seems very taken with the concept, leaving Kevvie an ideal candidate for Fiona Wood’s spray-on skin. And these are notional comrades-in-arms! Even Cleopatra would be askance at clutching this one to her bosom.
But Kevvie – who thought we’d ever remember him with something approaching sentiment? – had his comeuppance. Having reprised his diplomatic skills during recent whirlwind wanderings around the globe, he was able to do a soft-shoe shuffle with Hills Hoist, the Presidentess-in-waiting. And such a gay and hearty it was. His new best girl – who it must be acknowledged chooses her words with such skill and certainty that nary a slip passes twixt her lip and microphone – adorned him with the old token of affection: Prime Minister. Well, wasn’t he chuffed! Yes, his office later sanitised the term in the official record but for days the nation was bathed in the brilliant glare of a supernova that was just Kevvie’s new-found smile. Watch out, Mother Theresa, the US-Aussie alliance may be about to get a going-over.
Queen Julia herself kept imbibing from the Chalice as the peasants recorded their displeasure at the continuance of her ‘real’ persona. Newspoll suggests they don’t actually dislike her but are finding it hard to take a shine to her portrayal of her starring role as the nation’s Boss Cocky. Mind you, monarchs are rarely troubled by the platitudes of the peasants so we can expect her to sail serenely on. Though, when travelling to distant parts, her epistles to assembled throngs do need some work.
The Queen’s recent Grand Tour of the region appeared to leave heads of government speechless with her rabid rants on the topic of “Build it and they will come”. No-one was able to quite grasp her proclivity for a fabulous new resort at Timor L’Este. Indeed, few appeared to know just where TL is, far less why The Great South Land would want to build a massive resort there for Indians, Sri Lankans, Afghanis and Pakistanis. No doubt their diplomatic enquiries would have revealed that no-one in the south land understands it either. A mystery to us all!
And then there was the Duck With An Abacus: the one who looks as though he is forced to carry the Chalice with him everywhere these days. Treasurers have for decades been able to wax lyrical every so often about the benefits of a strong dollar but poor old Swannee appears likely to be poleaxed by a little Aussie dollar on steroids. His recent budget update was masterful as he announced the finding of another $10 billion black hole in his sums without even shedding a tear. Tremendous poise, Treasurer! And we all eagerly await the denouement of his faithful promise that the budget will return to surplus regardless of these cataclysmic conniptions.
But The Duck’s poise may be shaken even more by the public disclosure (until now kept under wraps by the mandarins’ shrouds of secrecy) that the NBN poses economic risks. Who would have thought? But, again, this Treasurer is not for turning. Promises to be like watching a road accident unfold.
Nor is it only characters who populate our national Political Play School who get to sup from The Poisoned Chalice. No, that pleasure is now bestowed on all the citizenry of Sydney thanks to the great salt shaker at Kurnell. It’s one of those stupendous screw-ups that make mere mortals wonder what the hell ever goes on in the minds of the would-be clever dicks of the world. You see, this $2 billion source of salvation for a parched land was built on the premise that ocean currents in the vicinity only ever flow one way – to the south. But, wonder of wonders, someone has now pointed out that, in fact, the currents flow north – about a third of the time. This takes the lovely, luscious leftovers of society from the Cronulla sewage outfall right up past the ever-sucking intake of the Kurnell salt shaker. And, thanks to what is described as the impact of a cold eddy, we are told the current has done this for the past week! Raise a glass, Sydney, you’re drinking it! And they reckon Queenslanders are unsophisticated! Tee, hee
But, in a pleasant end to all this poison-sipping, we gained guidance and insight from the Yankees’ former First Lady: and what a prime lady she proved to be. Hills Hoist squired (and that might indeed be the word) our very own Queen around Melbourne, showing her how to work a media audience, indeed any audience. Hills so adroitly massaged the emotions of those around her that Queen Julia’s lower lip was seen, on occasion, to drop slightly and quiver. Just as Madama Blanchett magnificently and mysteriously melds all others into a miasma, so the Hoist demonstrates sheer class so effortlessly that it bewilders the brain akin to Harry Houdini’s feats of escapism. Fabians everywhere will be praying that the Queen learned some tricks while being so up close and personal.
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