Howdy folks, Senator Fraser Anning is in the shit, doo dah, doo dah all day long. He said the final solution to the Asian and Muslim immigration issue was a national plebiscite of the voting citizens, a perfectly reasonable proposal. However, he fell into a linguistic trap. Since WWII, public figures are not permitted to use such words as “final solution” and other NAZI words and phrases. Who says this, well a bunch of left-wing looneys from German left and of course, the cry babies here in Australia like, Penny Wong aka Penny Dreadful, Tony Burke aka Loopy Lou and Bill Shorten aka Daddy Long Lies. Also Senator Anning said more than half of the working age Muslims don’t work, when he should have said less than half of the working age Muslims don’t work, who really gives a continental? They don’t work, Capiche. So pack up ya bags and sashay down the yellow brick road to a hoedown with the looney left if you’re a fair dinkum true blue Aussie.
Tziporah Malkah aka Kate Fisher, she’s the one who at thirteen won a Dolly modelling competition and then for the next 20 years cocked her arse on the catwalk at all and sundry, thank ya mother for the rabbits, know what I mean, nudge, nudge, know what I mean. Married James Packer and walked away with a million dollar settlement; relocated to Los Angeles, changing her name to Tziporah Malkah because she’s a Jew (Springtime For Hitler), then was ripped off not by the neo-Nazis but by a Rabbi boyfriend, returning to Australia in 2011 broke and broken. Born with a silver spoon in her mouth suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died and was buried; she descended into hell; on the third day she rose again from the dead; and ascended into a White Caravan and is seated at the right hand of Juliet Potter. What’s her beef? James Packer is praised because he fessed up to being a depressive while she has been called a crazy old fat bag has-been. It not kosher she said, Mr Packer, a white male is getting all the sympathy.
Well folks, there ya go! I always thought Sam Dastyari was too good to be true; not a true blue Aussie. Now it turns out he’s a recovered drug addict. Well if ya a gold standard celebrity, as Sam the Dunny Man is, then ya need a few miracles in ya life: like walkin on water, turnin water into wine, surviving Jimmy Dancer, havin a blue cattle dog or at least, a black dog chasin ya. Hoorah for Sam, Hoorah for Sam, he’s a horse’s arse! Good on ya Sam, your the one, foreman material!
Frederick Walker Commandant of the Native Police by Paul Dillon | Format: Hardcover | Publisher: Connor Court Publishing | Category: Biography—Australian History.
This is the first and only complete biography of Frederick Walker, 1820 to 1866. Mr Walker’s life was one of isolation, hardship and rejection. As Commandant of the Native Police, he was the man who stood at the front line of Australian history with his true and trusty sable force and forged the northern pastoral frontier so settlers could depasture their livestock and prosper without let or hindrance from unfriendly natives who sought to mutilate and kill them and their stock. He was much abused in his day by the squatters for his careful and clement handling of Aborigines, ami des noirs. He is still much abused and neglected today by the modern followers of the black armband brigade. In the annals of the History War, he stands accused of many high crimes and misdemeanours against humanity and the aboriginal natives of Australia; all are gross slanders and monstrous calumnies. This treatise on his life and times is a complete defence to these infamous allegations, backed up with pages of original source material.
After to being driven from his command of the Native Police by petty minded squatters and disloyal officers, he took up the worthy profession of a run-hunter and opened up much grazing land in southern and central Queensland, in particular, Plant Downs. He was readily enlisted in the search for Burke and Wills, the forever lamentable tragedy of Australian heroism lost to the unforgiving outback. Frederick Walker’s final act was in the service of the State of Queensland in surveying a telegraph line from Townsville to Burketown for the purposes of an overseas telegraphic link to India. He now lies in a bush grave where he fell on the road to Floraville, Leichhardt River, Queensland. Walker was a bushman par excellence, an Aboriginal Whisperer beyond comparison and an explorer without equal.
AUTHOR: Paul Dillon lives in Townsville and holds a Bachelor of Arts (Asian Studies) degree from the Australian National University, a diploma of Law from the Supreme Court of New South Wales and was called to the Bar of New South Wales on 23 May 1986. He has practised as a Barrister at Law in the Criminal Division of the superior courts of Queensland at Townsville for twenty years as counsel for the accused. He retired from the Law in 2005.
The book may be purchased online from Connor Court Publishing, Brisbane.
Labor MP, Emma Husar, Miss Goodie Two Shoes, sits in Parliament wearing a white ribbon (Prevent Men’s Violence Against Women) yet she has now been found to be a bully and abusive towards her office staff. What a humbug, what a hypocrite, a dumb broad from MeToo, give us a break. She should be tarred and feathered.
Folks, the story use to run as follows: little boys are made of slugs and snails and puppy-dogs’ tails, while little girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice. Now we’ve all heard of the ugly American, but what about the ugly feminist? You know the feminazi. Are you thinking the same thing I’m thinking? Clementine Ford, no not that faceache of a fruitcake; Labor MP Emma Husar. The wicked witch of the West, Dragon lady incorporated, pick up my dog shit or else cop it in the Khyber Pass. Doo Dah, doo dah, doo dah all day long, wash my undies you snivelling dog of a wimp. I’m a single mother on $200k a year, think of all the sacrifices I’ve made for you, you catch-fart of a lackey, you office drudge. Where’s my dry cleaning, dogsbody?
Folks, Kate Langbroek, I don’t get; she is neither smart nor funny. Yet there she sits bestride the media circus like some seasoned performer with a well loved routine and a punch line at the ready. Of course, she started off with Melbourne Community radio station Triple R, say no more, say no more. But there ya have it. However, what does that say for comedy in Australia? Nothing as far as I can see; it’s just a bunch of dumb broads talkin about their bodily functions, Wendy Hammer, Judith Lucy and Hannah Gadsby. Rings on her fingers and bells on her toes, and nothin else.