So what's the worst newspaper in Australia up to today - yes, for perniciousness and deviousness, it even beats the NT News:
Uh huh, still flogging Roger Rogerson, and running an EXCLUSIVE which cheerfully joins the federal government in abusing the unemployed as drug-taking dole bludgers in need of medical examination, without proposing the urgent need for drug-testing for addled parliamentarians, who seem to be ingesting god knows what ... while fucking up the country.
At any other time the libertarians and the IPA and Tim Wilson would be up in arms denouncing the governmental intrusion on people, their freedom and their right to privacy, but not when it comes to dole bludgers, not when the bludgers could make a decent living serving up scurrilous crap for Murdoch.
What's that you say, the empire is shrinking, and job numbers aren't what they once were?
Oh well, maybe they can get a job enforcing drug compliance. After all, that's a good way to get people into jobs. Worked for the Stasi ...
It was such an EXCLUSIVE as a story that it featured in other Murdochian rags ...
... though for some reason, the Queenslanders didn't think that much of it, bizarrely running the story of a Russian super-tzar at the top of the page, a keen trans-Pacific rower, no doubt because he landed in Mooloolaba, north of Brisbane. Only in Queensland ... but it does suggest useful employment for drug cheat dole bludgers. Let them row the Pacific ...
The EXCLUSIVE also turned up on the front page of the HUN, though it felt so little about the story, it ran a promo for soccer - soccer in Melbourne, why the pond could feel the earth shift on its axis - and a troll-baiting offer of frequent flyer points, which struck the pond as absurd because this very weekend, the pond's partner reported another classic case of iPad failure on a 767 to Melbourne. Yes, it took three iPads to find a working one, two sets of headphones that didn't work, with sound reduced to a whisper, and privately owned ear pods needed, and agitation elsewhere in the cabin as mug punters asked for replacements in a bid to find something that worked in cattle class ...
Let the bludgers run Qantas. Couldn't do any harm, but it might help if they were stoned ...
But we digress, as it's so easy to do when reading Murdochian rags.
Was it merely a coincidence that the other night the pond caught a few minutes of American Beauty, and it just so happened to be the scene where the son switched urine samples on his seriously fucked up father?
Does anyone in the federal government have the first clue how they're sounding as fucked up as that dad? And, it has to be said, as stupid ...
Moving swiftly, Ricky pulls the drapes shut and switches on a light. His room is a haven of high-tech. A state-of-the-art multimedia COMPUTER crowds his desk, and high-end STEREO and VIDEO EQUIPMENT line the shelves, as well as HUNDREDS OF CDs. There is easily twenty thousand dollars worth of equipment in this room.
RICKY Coming, Dad.
COLONEL (O.C.) You know I don't like locked doors in my house, boy.
Ricky opens the door.
The Colonel stands outside, eyeing him.
RICKY I'm sorry, I must have locked it by accident. So what's up?
The Colonel holds out a small PLASTIC CUP WITH A CAP.
COLONEL I need a urine sample.
RICKY Wow. It's been six months already. Can I give it to you in the morning? I just took a whiz. COLONEL Yeah, I suppose. (an awkward beat) Well. Good night, son. He disappears down the hall. Ricky smiles, shuts and locks his door. He puts the plastic cup on the shelf, then crosses to a MINI REFRIGERATOR in the corner of his room and takes out a cup-sized TUPPERWARE CONTAINER from the freezer, already filled with urine, albeit frozen, and places it on a saucer to thaw overnight.
Coming shortly to Tony Abbott's Australia ...
There's a pay off in the movie of course, though the pond went on to other things before reaching that point:
Ricky enters, followed by Lester.
RICKY Can you hold this for a sec?
LESTER Sure. He gives the URINE SPECIMEN to Lester, then locks the door.
RICKY I don't think my dad would try to come in when somebody else is here, but you never know. Ricky crosses to a bureau and opens a DRAWER. He takes clothing out and piles it on his bed. LESTER (re: urine sample) What is this?
RICKY Urine. I have to take a drug test every six months to make sure I'm clean.
LESTER Are you kidding? You just smoked with me last night.
RICKY It's not mine. One of my clients is a nurse in a pediatrician's office. I cut her a deal, she keeps me in clean piss.
Lester picks up a CD case from a shelf and examines it.
LESTER You like Pink Floyd?
RICKY I like a lot of music.
LESTER Man, I haven't listened to this album in years. He shakes his head, then puts the CD case down. Ricky, having emptied the drawer, now removes a FALSE BOTTOM, revealing rows of MARIJUANA, tightly packed in ZIP-LOC BAGS.
RICKY How much do you want?
LESTER I don't know, it's been a while. How much is an ounce?
RICKY (indicates bag) Well, this is totally decent, and it's three hundred.
RICKY (indicates another bag) But this shit is top of the line. It's called G-13. Genetically engineered by the U.S. Government. Extremely potent. But a completely mellow high, no paranoia.
Uh huh. So there's a good job for drug cheat dole bludgers. A life of crime and drug dealing! Why didn't the pond think of it? Kick 'em out in the street, and make 'em street smart, and soon enough we'll have the biggest and best drug culture in the world, and jails full to overflowing.
Why it's a conservative wet dream, all that punishing and belittling and humiliation - and nurses who can help out with free piss might also do okay - but perhaps we'd all better start cultivating that paranoia in Tony Abbott's Australia ...
Meanwhile, the pond apologises to all. In the excitement of seeing Dame Slap turn up on a Saturday, the pond forgot to overlook some sterling contributions as the reptiles furiously scribble away at the lizard Oz. First up was Dame Groan:
What an exemplary effort. All the more so that the Groaner worked her magic the very same day as a vile scaremonger burst into print:
Shame on you, Glyn Davis, you shameful scare mongerer you (and the rest of the story here), running around scare mongering everyone, all the more disgraceful in that Melbourne University is supposed to be at the top of the pack of cautious universities.
Please recall your email immediately and write that fees will climb gently, like a glider on a zephyr, by a mere 45 to 61%, in a way that can only be called less than momentous, more like a molehill attempting to imitate a mountain, and soon enough we'll have you writing commentariat pieces for Murdoch la la land ...
And the pond also forgot to mention the litigious Chris Kenny's magnificent effort. When not demanding money for wounded pride, Kenny is always to hand to pour scorn on attempts to recognise uppity blacks:
You can, if you like, evade the paywall and read Kenny's No winners in a game that reduces race to a political football - a Kenny word is like distilled essence of gold and worth a huge payout - but have you thought about wearing a cilice on a weekend instead?
It is as perfect an example of sour grapes that the pond has come across in recent times, and if the pond may be so bold as to offer a spoiler plot summary, it seems that while the uppity blacks might play a mean game of football, all this fuss about 18C will result in payback, and they'll miss out on a mention in the constitution. Ya yah, sucks boo ...
Aided by one unfortunate phrase from Attorney-General George Brandis, who was pointing out that legislation cannot control the human heart, opponents now frame the proposal as an attempt to protect bigotry. This is dishonest and hysterical — but effective.
Anyone supporting the changes to the Racial Discrimination Act is now dubbed racist, or at least a defender of bigots.
This perversion of the debate is not limited to political fringe-dwellers; sadly, it has been the tactic used by Labor as well.
Yet this is the climate in which we expect to engender consensus on indigenous recognition. Indigenous Affairs Minister Nigel Scullion remains optimistic and wants to frame the step in a positive light.
But it is difficult to resist a more pessimistic assessment.
Julian Burnside QC, for instance, has tweeted that the Attorney-General says “it’s OK to be a bigot”. If this is what we get from a Queen’s Counsel and recipient of the Sydney Peace Prize, we may be waiting a long time for a fair-minded and conciliatory discussion.
In a speech this week, indigenous leader Patrick Dodson showed how to make these arguments in a less combative way; it is possible to play the ball and not the man. But, generally, the 18C debate has been lost in a melee of shouting and finger-pointing.
The venom and divisiveness of the opponents may well thwart the Racial Discrimination Act changes. But it also may undermine any chance of fostering a consensus to usher in the historic constitutional change.
Vengeance is mine, saith the rabid, or some such thing in Murdoch la la land.
Do the Murdochians require a urine test of their employees and commentariat scribblers? If not, is the time right?
And that's about it for this Sunday, but before you go, did you forget your own urine test?
Yes, the pond is requiring a urine sample from anyone who's read thus far, but really we don't have the facilities to process it just yet ...
Why not send it instead to the federal government in Canberra, tidily packed in a sample jar? They'll be ever so pleased to receive it and to discover you're clean ...
What's that? How dare you open that fridge ...
(Below: well at least those bloody dole bludgers won't end up like Lance Armstrong)