Cunning, Flesh-Covered Androids

We have now entered the media blackout period for Saturday’s Federal election. Praise the lord for small mercies. If I had to watch another ad with Malcolm Turnbull droning …jobs. and. growth. jobs. and. growth… or Bill Shorten trying to convince us he’s not some sort of cunning, flesh-covered android I may well have gone spare.

It currently looks like the Libs will get back in, probably with a reduced minority. Not the ideal situation, but as long as they don’t get control of the Senate it won’t be a complete disaster. God alone knows what’s going to happen up there, what with the new Senate voting rules and the ever increasing numbers of insane micro-parties – let alone the fact that the double dissolution has put all the Senate seats up for grabs. Interesting times my friends, interesting times. Get your monkey paws ready.

I am currently in the last stages of preparation for my trip to the UK. Airbnb has decided that I am a human being rather than some sort of cunning, flesh-covered android which means I have organised some places to stay and will not have to sleep under a series of canal bridges. This, combined with getting enough stuff completed at work before I leave means I have not had time to do much else, hence the lack of updates.

I have started to develop the ability to recognise New Zealand postcodes. I’m not sure if this is for good or ill.

Hunting for Witches

You know, I really feel bad for the right wing of the Liberal Party. The review they demanded into the Safe Schools program has turned out to be a balanced and fair investigation instead of the ideologically fueled witch hunt they were expecting. I mean, what’s happening to this country when you can’t even get a good, old fashioned,  small-minded, hate-filled witch hunt going? Jeeze!


From that bastion of accurate and up to the minute reporting,

A MYSTERIOUS crack in the earth the size of five football fields has opened up in Wyoming’s Bighorn Mountains.

No one can explain the gigantic tear in the rock, which measures an extraordinary 685 metres long by 48 metres wide.

“The gash”, as locals are calling it, was discovered by hunting organisation SNS Outfitter & Guides, which posted a photo on Facebook in late October. An engineer from the town of Riverton went out to investigate, reporting that there appeared to have been an incredible 14 to 18 million metres of movement.

Incredible indeed!

It’s On!

Well, we’re all waiting with bated breath to see whether the utterly appalling Age of Tony will be ended by the people’s hero Malcolm Turnbull. Who – if he succeeds – will more than likely turn out to be just as bad. But hey! At least it’ll be a different kind of horror!

Of course, if Malcolm does get in it means the Liberals will have a chance to hang on to power at the next election. But maybe with him at the helm a continued Liberal government won’t be so bad. Alternatively, the fact that he (supposedly) disagrees with so many Liberal policies may just sow massive discord within the party and render them un-electable. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see, and in the meantime enjoy the Schadenfreude!

EDIT: I have been waiting two years to post this!

Goodbye Tony! You won’t be missed!


So, Dawn Fraser has outraged the nation by saying that Nick Kyrgios and Bernard Tomic should go back to where their parents came from.

It’s a pretty bloody objectionable thing to say – no doubt there – but it reminds me of something I thought back in 2007 when Sir Patrick Moore made some similarly unhinged comments about women. The thing you have to remember about Dawn (and Sir Patrick) is that she’s old. Practically ancient.

Dawn Fraser is 77. By the time a person gets to 77 the world has changed. The society they grew up in has gone, morphed into something wildly different several times over. So it’s only to expected that sooner or later they’ll do or say something badly out of step with the modern world.

So here’s my idea. Once someone – be they a public figure or a private citizen – reaches 75 we give them permission to say whatever crazy crap they want to, and in turn we completely ignore it. We don’t make a fuss, we don’t create a scandal. We just say “Good old Dawn” or “Good old Sir Patrick”, give them a pat on the back and move on. And if anyone feels offended we simply remind them that the person in question is old, set in their ways, and frankly not worth the bother.

Such a policy would benefit us all I think.