A Manne Makes His Move - but will he trouble Kevin ?
Digital Mischief by Warrigal
With speculation about the Liberal leadership running red hot, and with the Pig’s Arms patrons openly complaining about Malcolm’s poor performance, rumours about Manne making a leadership challenge are refusing to go away.
Some in the pub have, in the past suggested than Manne lacks the ticker – that he’s just an amiable glass picker-upper, a hedge trimmer for the Hell’s Angles (bikie geometricians) and a wedge runner for granny.
Others have said than Manne lacks judgement and that he should never have gone to help out Maddy in Emmjay’s Zephyr. Nor should he have pushed the Utegate Affair involving Danny so hard.
More surprising was Merv’s insistence that the UPL (United Publicans League) should adopt a pro-active stance on alcopops as the the pre-eminent solution to climate change. And when he elected to stake the pub licence on his judgement, it was fairly obvious to the imbibers of Trotters Ale and the pink drinks that there was trouble brewing at mill.
It was revealed today that Manne’s twin, Joe, has tired of sharing space on the front bench with Mal and (given Joe’s jumbo suit profile), there’s no surprise that he’s wriggling a bit over disquiet on the back benches and across the road in Rosie’s Tattoo Emporium and House of Pain (no charge for extra pain).
When people pledge undying support for their leader, they are speaking posthumously without a doubt. So was it Joe or was it Manne who pledged undying support for Malcolm ? Is it a smokescreen ? Are Joe and Manne identical twins ?
What IS interesting however is the sudden retirement decision of Pistol Pete (drink till midnight, pistol dawn) Costello. He said that “we’ve found our new candidate, and we’re ready to roll”. Emmjay was saying that Pete must have meant “roll the leader”, as opposed to “roll the dice” but granny said she thought that was the same thing.
Either way we get snake eyes.
So what if Manne does become the new leader in a shadow cabinet reshuffle stuff up, or whether they get it right and Joe takes the poisoned chalice is still a matter of pure guesswork.
Will Merv give up the pub for his old mate Malcolm ? Does Manne really have a brigadier’s baton in his knapsack, or does he in fact have a nap in his hackey sack. Sorry, did I say hackey sack ? I meant “Hockey sack”.
Sorry, I meant “sack Hockey”
Arrr, hell. Loyalty is so hard to come by these days, don’t it ?
Window Dresser's Arms, Pig & Whistle 
I’m tempted to offer my services here and be both the whipping boy and the sacrificial lamb. In the sense that I am the only capitocialist blogger in TWDA,P&W and hence the only one able to offer an argument in Aussie Malc’s defence. In other words I could interrupt your mutual admiration for each others’ admiration of Chairman Kevin and set up some arguments about his suitability for leadership and how the press seem able to keep pushing the same manipulative stories with such febrile ardour.
But my fingers feel like giant gherkins on a tiny cheese(key)board- and consequently I will resile from that endevour in order that you may continue in your vein.
But NO black faces pleearse!!
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JL that opening is so wide I doubt that even Dorian would bother walking thru it.
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Oh well! I was just trying to help.
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Urgent Internet Warning:
If you get an e-mail titled – ‘Nude photo of Julia Gillard’, don’t open it….it contains a nude photo of Julia Gillard.
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I have just spent all night trying to explain to Manne the concept of passing a motion!!!! He keeps running off to the toilet, “No luck” he says ” I have tried and tried, maybe I just haven’t got it in me to pass so many motions”. Back to square one, “this bill must be passed” I told him, “it is of national importance”. Off he trots again,”I tried again and again, but no bills passed”. By this time he was very despondant, then he latched onto the idea of taking laxatives, I am by now, in no humour to try and get through to him. He went back to the kitchen, getting into the rhubarb, apples, “my mother always told me to add roughage to the diet, by the time I am ready to go I will be as clean as a whistle”. Two hours later, sitting in session, Manne starts to go green, his belly is rumbling away, he excuses himself and goes to the toilet, comes back flushed with success, and a big smile on his dial. “Its’ all ok now, I have passed a motion, but I looked through and there were no bills around, I had paid all my bills up till now, so I should not have any more for a while now. I suggest he clearly is the right candidate for not only infrastrucure, but our future leader.
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Might as well be Manne than anyone else, granny. They all seem to have one type of Bill in them and it doesn’t smell of roses.
Jolly good chuckle, thanks.
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You’ve reached new mischief heights this time, Waz! You’ve really excelled yourself, as they say in the classics. (Thucydidopoulos, I think.)
It’s a poetic picture this one; and lyrical too. Very literary, indeed. As well as very Freudian –psychoanalytical to the core.
To wit:
There is Rudd, his hand indicating the size of his… ego and pointing to his “self.” Can’t get any more definitive than that. To paraphrase Descartes, “Habeo ego, ergo sum.” (I have an ego, therefore I am). And, of course, he has his back to us. The significance of this is heart renting.
There are the Boys from inner sanctum of Mafia, forming a covert huddle. The godfather, looking like a serious man, one who’ll have us think that he studies for his career. But is he turning any pages? He is no mere street thug, he wishes us to know but an educated man. You’d have to look closely at the picture to discover that his expertise, in fact, is quite of another order. Look at that smirk! Reminds you of anyone?
And then there is the bearer of the hockey stick. He prefers it to the baseball bat in deference to Oz’s Hockeyroos and in synergy with his own name. And he’s trying! Trying so hard to show us that he possesses an understanding of the sophisticated and the suave that his sunnies match his tie! Obviously his wardrobe designer is not too far away.
Man, o Manne! I don’t see the daggers but I know they’re there. And that’s why Rudd has his back turned to us: “See?” He seems to be saying. “My party is not doing a Caesar on me!”
I won’t go into the synthesis of the symbols. Far too upsetting that, what with the heavy, locked chests and the upright mikes everywhere!
I get the picture! I get the message! I get the nightmare!
I’ll get the disprin now!
Well done, Waz!
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“Born to rule” purple perhaps?
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We used to only have to worry about cyclones, which is really Mother Natures answer to a big line trimmer. But earthquakes and a tsunami not too far away, we are closer to Vanuatu, Samoa, Indonesia, PNG than we are to Canberra. What is going on to cause all this shaky stuff?? We need to set up a Commission for Shaky Stuff Happening. While I was busy googling, we had a tsunami warning issued, luckily I live far enough away from the coastline to not be too concerned.
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TTThhiiinnnkkkiiin a bbit mmore about iit, mmaybbee wwee nneed a Mminister fffor eeaarthqquakkes aand ttsunamis???
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What’s happening up there in Qld? Anyway, good to see you granny. The PA ambience is warmed by your good-humour.
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Merv won’t have to leave the Pigs Arms, instead parliament can come to the Pigs Arms. Lively debate is assured, we have lots of opinions, and Manne suggested the Hells Angles be the deciders. Warrigal would make an excellent Speaker, when he is not too phissed, Minister for health would have to be Maddie, GO would be Minister of housing, Minister for education would be Atomou, Minister for infrastructure would be Manne, Minister for foreign affairs would be Helvi (heard she has had a foreign affair), Voice would be Minister for culture, Hung would make a good treasurer, just as long as he doesn’t leave the piggy bank behind. Emmjay could be the Minister for travel, These would be Minister for entertainment. Our parliament will meet once a week, providing we can get a decent car space close by, we do not expect ministers to carry their heavy Port folios too far. Merv could do duty as usher, drinks waiter, cleaner, gardener, kitchen hand, food waiter. Superannuation is provided for MPs at 20% pa, unlimited travel provided, right Emmjay??? Annual entitlements will be increased by 20% pa. We will have our own Remuneration tribunal, we must all maintain membership of such. What could go wrong???/
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…yes, yes, forign affairs, please; free trips to Paris, and absolutely, to Buenos Aires.
I love the idea of gez as a minister for housing; suburbs out of the way , bulldozers are coming!
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foreign!
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Be proudly ‘forigner ‘. You are in sjarge now.
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I don’t have a drinking problem. I drink, I fall down. Its no problem at all.
(Boom Boom! The old music hall jokes. Don’cha’jus’lov’em.)
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Miri, you’ve reminded me of an Oirishman called Paddy (Rare name that, in Oirland):
Paddy had been drinking at his local Dublin pub all day and most of the night celebrating his birthday.
Mick, the bartender, says, “You’ll not be drinking anymore tonight, Paddy”
Paddy sees that Mick looks like he means it so he replies “OK Mick, I’ll be on my way then.” Then Paddy spins around on his stool and steps off. Bang! He falls flat on his face.
“Shoite,” he says to himself and pulls himself up by the stool. He dusts himself off and takes a step towards the door. Bang! He falls flat on his face again. “Shoite, shoite, shoite!” He yells to himself.
Then he looks to the doorway and thinks that if only he can just get to the door, go outside and get some fresh air he’ll be fine. So, he crawls on his belly all the way to the door and shimmies up to the door frame. He sticks his head outside and takes a deep breath of fresh air. That makes him feel much better so he takes a step outside, on to the sidewalk. Bang, again! And again he falls flat on his face. “Bi’Jesus… I’m bloody drunk,” he says.
But he can see his house just a few doors down, and so he manages to crawl all the way to the door. Again he shimmies up the door frame, opens the door and shimmies inside. He takes a look up the tall staircase and, despairing, he says “No bloody way! I can’t get all the woi up there!”
But that’s where his bedroom is, so he takes a deep breath and crawls up the stairs, all the way up to his bedroom door. Then with fresh confidence he says to himself, “I can bloody well make it to me bed!”
But then, he takes one step into the room and bang! Again, Paddy falls flat on his face!
“Bloody ‘ell,” he shouts angrily “I am bloody pished!” But he crawls a bit more and finally manages to fall into his bed -without a “bang” this time because his bed is soft.
The next morning, his wife, Jess, comes into the room carrying a cup of coffee, scrambled eggs and haggis. “Get up Paddy,” she calls at him.”Get up, I’ve got yer breakfast fer you…” Then she looks at him grimly and says, “did you have a bit to drink last night, Paddy?”
Paddy sees that he’s not going to be able to hide it so he replies, “I did Jess. I did, that. I got damned near pished. But how’d you know?”
“Mick called,” said his wife. “You left your wheelchair at the pub.”
Boom, boom!
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He was the cousin of that other Irishman who was a member of the IRA. You’ll remember him JL. They sent him to blow up a bus and the silly bastard burned his lips on the exhaust pipe.
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Ah, Mirri… that would be a relative of the fellow who gave himself a thick ear when I rang him up while he was ironing!
😉
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That’s him! And when they locked him up in the H at HMP Maze, they put him in a cell inside a cell. Just “to be shor, to be shor”.
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Merv will never leave the Pigs Arms, we are about to find out more, stay tuned….
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