Social Commentator

Waleed Aly, what’s that?

Folks, Waleed Aly is at it again. Sudanese gangs he says, they don’t exist. He’s speakin the truth they say? Remember folks, Col. Jessup: You don’t want the truth because deep down in places you don’t talk about at parties, you want me on that wall. You need me on that wall. We use words like honour, code, loyalty. We use these words as the backbone of a life spent defending something. You use them as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom that I provide, and then questions the manner in which I provide it! I would rather you just said “thank you” and went on your way, Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a weapon and stand a post.

 

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Social Commentator

Hanson-Young is a horse’s !!!!!

Well folks, put ya hand up if you’ve been watching the cat fight between Hanson-Young and David Leyonhjelm. Ok, I agree it’s a boor and a good example of polies arguing over nothing and wasting tax payer’s money but what do ya do with a dumb broad like Hanson-Young who is a virago, fishwife, fury, harpy, scold, shrew, termagant, vixen, harridan, battle-axe, Xanthippe, and a ballbreaker. Put her in a scupper and hose her down, Shave her legs with a rusty razor, Earl-eye in the morning, Earl-eye in the morning.

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Social Commentator

Red Hen goes apeshit!

Folks, the Red Hen, America (Lexington, Va.) not to be confused with the Red Hen of Australia that Welsh rabbit, Julia Gillard, another ravin, fumin, smokin, dumb broad from the left of sanity, has escaped her pen and run amuck in the chitlin fields of middle America. If Sarah Huckabee Sanders had been a nice little black or ethnic okie from the underbelly of America where the sun never shines and everyone wears white shoes, then the shit of the do-gooders would have hit the fans of the righteous and the good Lord Almighty, would have laid a thousand doo-dahs! doo-dahs! De blind hoss sticken in a big mud hole—Doo-dah! doo-dah! Can’t touch bottom wid a ten foot pole—Oh! doo-dah-day! Stephanie Wilkinson, co-owner of the Red Hen, is a horse’s arse!

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Social Commentator

Katy Gallagher to stand again!

Katy Gallagher, a Labor dead beat, was thrown out of the Senate for breaching section 44 of Constitution. Now she’s back, without so much as a by your leave, spreading buttercups and daisies as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth; not a care in the world not an ounce of remorse for duping the Australian public. This country is overrun with pommy retreads.

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Social Commentator

To cull or not to cull?

Crocodiles have been seen swimming and sunning themselves at two popular Far North Queensland water holes. Take it from me folks, ya can always tell a crocodile lover because they wear their underdaks up their bum crack and live in a cold climate. Everyone knows a dead croc is a good one; shoot em high, shoot em low, shoot em up anytime. Those dam crocs we seek em here, we seek em der, we seek em ebbrywhere. Those dam crocs are good for nuttin, nuttin, not a ting at all. Lets get rid of them and celebrate a day at the beach croc free.

But the biggest kick I ever got was doing a thing called the Crocodile Chop. While the other kids were rocking round the clock, we were hopping and bopping to the Crocodile Chop.

 

 

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Social Commentator

Barnaby is not related to Lord Haw-Haw!

Folks, the amount of ill wind that is directed at Barnaby Joyce at the moment, is hard to fathom. I thought, perhaps people had confused Barnaby with another person; voila: the pin dropped and there it is to behold. Barnaby Joyce is neither the son of William Joyce, Lord Haw-Haw nor the reincarnation of Lord Haw-Haw.  So can we move on please. Try and pick on someone your own size.

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Social Commentator

Barnaby is the target of envy!

Wee Willie Winkie rins through the toon,

Up stairs an’ doon stairs in his nicht-gown,

Tirlin’ at the window, crying at the lock,

“Are the weans in their bed, for the shirt-lifters are about?”

One thing Barnaby Joyce and Vikki Campion have that all these other nasty oopsies don’t have, is dear little baby Sebastian. When ya a desiccated, wizened piece of LBT who’s spent a life cockin ya arse at anything that moves in a gay mardi gras, it would be niece to come home and settle down with a wee bairn. Envy, dear reader; envy.

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