Saturday Sobserver Satire: O’Dudd Does It Again!

Tony: “In future Kan, remember to stick to the right hand side… the far right hand side.”

Last Thursday the Member for Flint, Mr. Kan O’Dudd, voted with the opposition after chatting with Clyde Palmoil of PUMP (Palmoil United Mining Party).

“I blame the hypnotic way his jowls wiggled,” explained Mr. O’Dudd, “I was left dazed and confused.”

Sadly for Mr. O’Dudd, this was not his only mistake of the night.  After the vote, Kan was to attend the Lieberal Party Bingo Function at Ming Mansion, “But somehow, I found myself enjoying the hospitality at Harry’s Hemp House,” he told surprised reporters, “it was a mistake anyone could make.”

It was only after donating twenty three thousand dollars and buying a fistful of tickets on the Free Range Chook Raffle Wheel did it occur to Kan that he was actually at a Greenie Party fundraiser.

“I should have known I was in the wrong place from the start as everyone was very tolerant and extremely cheerful.  I left immediately after winning the nights’ grand prize; an all-expenses paid Minke Whale Watching Cruise around the Southern Ocean!”

News of Mr. O’Dudds’ mistake had been relayed to Parliament House where Prime Misogynist, Tory Rabbitt, demanded Kan’s appearance in his chambers immediately.

“Storm in a tea cup,” muttered Mr. O’Dudd as he strolled through the doors leading to Opposing Leader Dill Shorty’s office.

Original Article here:  http://www.gladstoneobserver.com.au/videos/ken-odowds-embarrassing-gaffe-parliament/22863/

Welcome Home Bub!

Hello Ellie May!
Sshhh!!

Hello Granddaughter #1, and Welcome to Planet Earth!  We hope you enjoy your time here.

First the good news:  You’ve managed to land in a pretty good part of a pretty great country, and are surrounded by a loving family.  Plus, if the Facebook commentary is any guide, quite a lot of folk you haven’t met yet will be cheerfully looking out for you as well.

Now for the bad news: the world you’ve just entered is not perfect.  I’m really sorry about that.  Lots of us have been working very hard for quite a long time to make it a better place, but certain folk aren’t playing the game.

And I’m going to be brutally honest here, one of your Grandparents is very opinionated, has no dress sense and likes to break wind in public; but if I’ve learned to live with Long Suffering Grandma then so can you.

Also, Granddads’ beer fridge is full of poisonous medicines which only Granddads’ can drink.

Ok, that’s the bad stuff out of the way, now for the Great News!

Whenever you’re in the presence of your Grandparents, Great Grandparents and Aunties, everything you say, and do, will be greeted with praise, encouragement, smiles or laughter.  Get used to being photographed.

As a bonus, for even the tiniest of deeds, you will be showered with gifts and rewards; most of them will involve chocolate and sugar; particularly just before it’s time for you to go back home to your Mummy and Daddy.

Finally little one, there’s a whole stack of stuff your new Grandparents want to show and teach you, but much of it will have to wait for now.  In the meantime we’ll spoil you rotten, and trust me kid, that’s one job we’re really looking forward to!

Dump Run (Walk)

Fill your car with rubbish? Just another free service I can cheerfully provide.

In my real job I wear a Council uniform.  In my unreal job, I usually wear my holey pyjamas.

Anyway, each afternoon I like to take my ratepayer funded clothing for a stroll through the bush, and while Long Suffering Wife’s dogs water the trees, I ponder life’s big questions; like, ‘Will tea be ready when I get home?’ and, ‘How can I get out of doing the dishes tonight?’

We rarely meet anyone else in the scrub, but I often spy their footprints, paw prints, slither marks, tyre tracks, and unfortunately, the piles of rubbish they leave behind.  So last week, when I spotted a bloke standing next to a trailer load of junk, I rushed straight over.

Now, having a council worker catch you dumping illegally can sort of ruin your afternoon.  But it can also do your head in when that council worker starts loading rubbish back onto your trailer and cheerfully says, “Good onya mate!  It’s nice to see someone cleaning up around here for a change!”

Dropping the garbage bag he was holding back into the trailer he mumbled, “Yeah, that’s what I’m doing.”

I found a couple of tyres in the nearby grass and tossed them on as well, at which point I’m sure he thought, ‘Hey!  They’re not mine!’  But he didn’t say anything.

After overloading his trailer with other people’s rubbish, I whipped out my phone and asked, “Can I take your photo and send it to the Mayor?  She’ll be thrilled!”  A true champion, he humbly declined my offer of public recognition.

After making a show of noting his rego, I waved him farewell.  Thanks to my uniform one bloke is now much wiser, Gladstone is slightly cleaner, and I’m a little bit fitter; especially after exercising my inner smart arse.

Tighten Those Belts!

This sounds familiar…

Debt Blowout! Financial Emergency! Budget Disaster! Economic Crisis! These were a few of the terms Long Suffering Wife threw at me recently when I asked about the state of our bank balance.

You know, I’m starting to think our fiscal situation is slightly shaky.

A quick session with the calculator revealed that while things weren’t great, they certainly weren’t disastrous. But, like our political masters, I thought I’d capitalise on our alleged monetary woes and introduce some severe belt tightening measures; for everybody else.

First I slashed our Birthday and Christmas present expenditure, then cut all donations; charity begins, and now stays, at home.

Electricity is to be used only for essential purposes; fortunately my beer fridge counts as a maximum priority, urgent, necessity.

Long Suffering Wife will work until she’s seventy, then retire to become my full-time, unpaid carer, plus day care facilitator for the grandkids (also unpaid).

Visits to the doctor will be cut to one appointment each per year, regardless of how sick or unconscious anyone is.

The dogs shall forage for their own food, and family holidays will now involve tents.

I upped the kids’ allowances by ten cents a week, and was outraged when the little ingrates asked for more! So, I removed their fridge privileges for six months, then informed them they’ll be funding their own school trips.

Their appeal to Grandma is scheduled for next week.

But until things turn around, possibly in six to eighteen years, no one is to even think about asking for a new car, new furniture, new i-Thingies, or new clothes. Although, I am prepared to discuss the purchase of a new boat for vital ‘on water operations’.

My final tough choice was to reward myself with a hefty bonus for being so shrewd. Well, it’s all ‘abbott’ doing what I ‘Can Do’!

 

Going Downhill – Fast!

Honestly, how bad could it be?

“Who would be crazy enough to skateboard down that hill?” muttered Long Suffering Wife after reading about a recent accident.

In the corner, I slowly put my hand up.

As a boy, I’d conquered numerous hills around Gladstone, in spite of having large sections of my skin removed by gravel-coated cheese graters.

But my personal nemesis was Kauri Drive hill in Kin Kora. We saw it being built, and one afternoon, while watching an out of control grader sliding sideways down it, I thought, ‘Oh Yes!’

The bitumen was still cooling when my brother, his mate and I clambered to the top with our skateboards and peered down. My memory is a little vague, but I’m sure there were eagles gliding through the clouds below.

Anyway, after a horrifically fast ride, and lengthy recuperation, I decided that what I needed was a lower centre of gravity; and brakes.

Months later we dragged our home-built, timber go-kart to the precipice, where I put on my new rubber thongs and an ice-cream container helmet. Safety First.

Moments later I was in more trouble than a slow pedestrian crossing Philip Street. Slamming my thongs into the tarmac I yelped as they vanished in a puff of smoke, then screamed as I vaulted over the gutter. Sadly, I wasn’t lucky enough to be knocked unconscious.

Through the fog of pain I saw my brother and his mate race up, take one look, then run away again. In my delirium I thought they’d gone for help. Nope. Crawling home for another date with the scrubbing brush and disinfectant, I decided my time as a downhill test pilot was over.

Gladstone’s boys will continue seeking high hill thrills, and obviously we can’t stop them, but hopefully they’ll have the brains to strap a better class of ice-cream container onto their heads.