Monday, May 30, 2011

The Dreamtime of Tony Abbott

A frantic sense of terror ran through his whole body. He was bathed in sweat. His heart was racing. He could not find refuge.

He ran up the front steps of the Treasury building but the doors were firmly shut. And then to Defence! But everywhere was shut. No doors opened to him.

Then he saw Malcolm Turnbull sitting on a park bench reading the latest Liberal leadership results on his iPad. Malcolm was awash with $100 notes and seemed leaner, meaner and soooo serene. Malcolm noticed his agitated state and smiled.

“Do you want me to take that lovely field-marshall’s baton from you? I could handle it. I was born to rule. I’m from Vaucluse and I have a vision!” exclaimed Malcolm.

Grabbing the baton tighter he turned on his heel but was confronted by Joe Hockey who was carrying a number of totally empty baskets up the Kokoda track. Joe urged him to walk Kokoda with him to get fitter.

Past Joe he ran into a mass of wire, cords and cables. It was the National Broadband Network that he had helped pull down. Someone had left it out on the footpath for ‘garbage-night’ and he’d stumbled into it.

He waved his arms and legs in the air valiantly trying to free himself but became further entwined in the mire of electronic leftovers----- much like quicksand consumes its guests!

His terror elevated.

The ghost of Lord Baden-Powell , founder of the Scout movement came at him. Baden-Powell was holding a huge sign-----‘BE PREPARED’. These words ran through his head again and again. “BE PREPARED. BE PREPARED. BE PREPARED.”

Straining for sanity he recalled the tricks he used at the seminary to remove lustful thoughts from his head but none worked this time.

He splashed ‘holy water’ on his head but no relief came.

He fell to his knees and started to pray.

He screamed “Lord, why have you forsaken me?”

As tears flowed freely down his emaciated face the clouds above him opened and the voice of the Lord bellowed.

“Because you spent 3 years criticising, 2 years calling for an election and no time at all developing policies for the future of your Nation. You sir, should be ashamed of yourself! Just like John Howard YOU FAILED TO PLAN. Return to the Seminary! ”

At that point scabs fell from his eyes and they slowly opened.

He saw again.

But all Tony Abbott could see was the ceiling. And it needed painting!

It had been a bad dream. A nightmare! One of the worst!

As his awareness returned he realised that he’d soiled his pyjamas.

On the bedhead, The Blowfly had enjoyed the performance and, realised the fine line between a dream and reality.

If Julia Gillard did, for some strange reason, call Tony Abbott’s bluff and hold an election now----as Tony Abbott has called for----- he would indeed soil his pyjamas!

Because there is not a Coalition policy in sight! Not one!

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