Wednesday, February 21, 2018

In which a late Moorice is better late than never ...



And now the pond is truly, deeply mortified.

How has it come to this?

How has Moorice, one of the world's greatest climate scientists, been marked down, and narrowly squeaked in as the third reptile voice for the day, turning up in the pond's extra special late edition, though this means appearing in the twilight hours when only a few church mice will gain the benefit of his infinite wisdom …

It's simple enough. While Moorice's advice is sage and deep, and wogs and other imports will benefit, it can be summarised succinctly.

If you want to live here, become like Moorice. Think like Moorice, be Moorice. Take Moorice as your exemplar, hero and avatar.

If you must, you can be like the onion muncher, but be aware there's a cut-off point for heroes. Perhaps you could be like Cory, or the hasty Pastie, or at a pinch, Kev the libertine demanding the right to have affairs with staff ...and for the ladies, the Sydney Anglicans are always on the look out for complimentary women, guaranteeing a spot amongst the deeply pious …

And that's about it. If you can't manage to turn yourself into an angry old white man shouting at clouds, you're in deep trouble and you probably won't ever fit in …

The pond has thought of instituting a ban on all that foreign food and all those foreign clothes and all those foreign cultural traditions that infest the country … yes, pagan Easter bunny and pagan Santa, you're on notice …

Assimilate, don the aluminium foil at the mad hatter's tea party, or get lost …



Damn you, filthy vile Islamics … why can't you fit in, and learn to molest little children in the proper Catholic way?

Even worse there's that attitude to alcohol, which is damnably disrespectful and unfortunate.

Here the pond must pre-empt Moorice and flash back to the good old days and what it took to be dinkum ...

 

Yes, back in the day, in an ideal world, the idea of being a wog was best understood and written by a middle aged white man of decent and proper Anglo-Celtic extraction …

Dammit, a dinkum Tamworth boy … as ADB noted here

John (Patrick) O’Grady (1907-1981), pharmacist and author, was born on 9 October 1907 at Waverley, Sydney, eldest of eight surviving children of Victorian-born parents John Edward O’Grady, clerk in the Department of Lands who edited the Agricultural Gazette of New South Wales, and his wife Margaret, née Gleeson, whom O’Grady described as ‘five feet two inches (158 cm) of Irish-Australian pugnacity’. He grew up in suburban Waverley, until the family took up an isolated mixed farm on the Peel River near Tamworth. There he received nightly lessons—including Latin—accompanied by corporal punishment from his disciplinarian father. He also imbibed Anglophobia, Catholic morality and Irish sentimentalism. First attending school aged 12, from 1923 he boarded at St Stanislaus’ College, Bathurst.

Unless your average imports hie themselves to a sheep farm on the banks of the Peel, they're doomed, doomed for all eternity to be outsiders …

Tell 'em Moorice. Let's get back to the days of a lamb chop and three veggies, though none of your fancy foreign veggies with their poncy bloody airs.

Kale? Who let that into the bloody country? Some jumped up deluded hipster with a dose of the multiculturals …

Just remember, Moorice, a humble pensioner, is out in the 'burbs, doing it tough, learning to survive on the streets, coal his only friend and companion as the rioting get closer by the day ...



And so Moorice spoke, replete with all the usual bigotry to be expected, and what a fine speaking it was … in much the same way as back in the 1950s, the Anglicans berated the tykes, and the tykes berated anyone they could find …

It's a bullying world, no doubt about it, and Moorice and the onion muncher are as fine an example of bigoted bullies as might be found in this world …

Oh wait, scrub that, there are a few who are better at the sport …






3 comments:

  1. As reliable as a Tony Abbot brain fart on hate radio, Moorice comes hard on the digital splash with a demonstrably incorrect statement. Let's go:

    "State-backed multiculturalism generates tension and divides Australian society"

    No it doesn't. No it hasn't done for hundreds of years. It succeeds admirably except for a small minority of self-serving fvckers. If by division you mean 2GB listeners and anyone sad enough to read the Daily Tele are of a different opinion than the vast majority of calm, sensible Australians, maybe you have a minor point. But as this audience of groaners and moaners has been largely cultivated by Moorice's publisher, it's a bit rich having a problem with it innit?

    But do carry on Moorice.

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  2. I can remember when it was said that a post-WWII generation of migrant women had learned to be Australian from the Australian Women's Weekly (especially the cooking section). So as the Weekly went downhill - it actually became a 'monthly' in 1982 - so did the 'Australianisation' of migrants.

    It wasn't "a sudden shift to a multicultural model" so much as an increase in sophistication throughout much of Australian 'culture' - more Australians went overseas (and directly experienced 'other cultures') and more people came from overseas as visitors and tourists thus exposing more locals to more of the world.

    A process that began, in my mind, in a slowly accelerating way from the 1956 Melbourne Olympic Games onward. At least that's when we slowly began moving away from 'meat and three veg.' plus a slab of beer to a much more varied cuisine plus wine (and the great Aussie wine cask). I had my first taste of falafel (plus sundry other middle-eastern goodies) at an Egyptian restaurant/cafe that had opened in Prahran in the early 1960s.

    But I guess that would be all too esoteric and recondite for a simple-minded Moorice to grasp. It just doesn't have the direct appeal of 'climate change is fraud', does it.

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    1. PS: I used to love the Women's Weekly 'back page' cartoons. Where could one go now to get Brick Bradford and the Time Top, Mandrake and Lothar, and The Phantom all on one page.

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