Question time in the House of Representatives chamber.
From the Pig’s Arms Cub Reporter Boo-boo.
In late breaking news, the entire Australian Government has lodged a class action suing the entire Australian population for defamation.
A spokeswanker for the government said they are sick and tired of being called cunts by everyone, but they are aware that Australian defamation laws cannot be used against the rest of the known – and unknown universe.
A degree of uncertainty was injected into the action when it was pointed out to the government that it is not defamation if a) it is a matter of public knowledge and b) if it can be demonstrated to be true.
Someone on paid empathy training leave was said to be considering withdrawing the government’s defamation suit but that he and his little mate Mr Potato Head were bang on with their own lawsuits because they were both great guys who would never ever think of raping anybody, especially people who might dob to the press*
Crikey described this Hillsong Sermon as “Deeply Political”
Re-blogged with thanks to the Shovel.
A video emerged this week of the Prime Minister claiming he has been called upon to ‘do God’s work’.
But is he really carrying out the work of God? It turns out, yes. We’ve uncovered eleven quotes from the Bible that substantiate Mr Morrison’s claim.
John 12:16 – John 12:16 – And the people said unto the Lord ‘Why hath we no immunisations?’ And the Lord said unto them, ‘That is a matter for the states’.
Luke: 5:21 – Jesus looked at the poor and the helpless and the needy, and he said unto them, ‘Unfortunately I have no money to give you because I gave a $22 million taxpayer-funded handout to Gerry Harvey’.
Romans: 8:33 – And John, who was one of the Lord’s 40 media managers, said to Jesus, ‘Lord, your poll numbers are down. Let’s set up a photo shoot of you building a cubby house for chickens’.
Matthew 25:35 – For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you locked me up in an island prison for an unspecified amount of time.
Mark 8:17 – The people suffered through the worst pandemic in a hundred years. And Jesus went to Bunnings.
John 11:18 – Jesus said, ‘Send me your sinners and lepers and Robodebt collectors. Especially your Robodebt collectors’.
James 2:8 – And Matthew, one of the Lord’s disciples, said, ‘God’s love is for everyone. But especially those living in marginal Liberal electorates’.
Luke: 2:12 – The fire burnt for 40 days and 40 nights. And Jesus hopped on the first flight to Hawaii.
Mathew 21:12-13 – And Jesus went into the temple of God, and cast out all them that sold and bought in the temple, and overthrew the tables of the money changers. And then – furious at what they had done – he demanded they go on a six-week empathy training course, on full pay.
Corinthians 6:21 – Peter, Jesus’ disciple, didn’t like the mean things people said about him. So he sued for defamation.
Mathew 13:47-50 – Jesus told the people the parable of the three workers. The first worker called a rape victim a ‘lying cow’, but she kept her job because the government had only a one-seat majority. The second worker took a photo up a woman’s skirt, but he kept his job and was sent on an empathy training course. The third worker gave her staff Cartier watches, “And if she does not wish to stand aside, she can go!”
Foodge was feeling pensive, no apprehensive, no nervous and a little ill as he had just taken a long swig from a pocket flask with South Seas Blue Label scotch that O’Hoo just happened to have in his jacket pocket. This was his day in court after being kicked out of Buntings for wearing his pant bulger.
“I rang the clerk of the court last night to find out who the Judge is” says O’Hoo “ It’s genitalia”
“Genitalia is your private parts, you know your dingle dongle” replies Foodge.
“Here look, I writ in down”
“That’s Jenny Taylor not genitalia. You have a one track mind O’Hoo and Judge Jenny has her own television show, you know, on one of those channels that no one watches.”
“Here, drink this” as O’Hoo passes the flask as he steers the Zephyr down the main boulevard to the court house “and granny has put a couple of semi-automatic rifles plus extra ammo in the back seat just in case we need a fast get away. Isn’t she a sweetie.”
Hmm, thinks Foodge, neatly doing away with the need for apostrophes saving the author extra typing. What have I got myself into. Well if anything at least it makes a good story. Gee this South Seas Island Blue Label tastes great as the scotch kicks in.
“Park here” cries Foodge.
“It says no parking and we wouldn’t want to encourage kiddies to break the law now would we.” replies O’Hoo desperate to get more screen time.
Hmm, thinks Foodge, since when has O’Hoo developed a conscience. At least Judge Jenny will give us a fair trial and with the extra whiskey Foodge’s confidence is growing.
Judge Jenny addresses the court “Ladies and Gentleman we are gathered here today to join this loving couple in matrimony, oops, that was the last case, anyway we are gathered here today to hear the case of Foodge versus Buntings for personal and professional damages. Mr Foodge a poor downtrodden man who not only has lifted himself off the floor of the Pigs Arms to prop up the baa to being appointed to the baa of the legal profession. Versus Buntings, a mutlibillion dollar international conglomerate that steps on anyone to get their own way. The poor downtrodden Mr Foodge is naturally representing himself and for Buntings Mr Blah Blah.” The groans are palpable, this guy can talk under water with a mouth full of pebbles.
Mr Blah Blah kicks off “Well ma’am, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. I refer you to your book of documents ma’am 1 A, B and C. A being the story written by Big M with B and C being statements from the sales attendants. We plead not guilty.”
Foodge replies “No dispute from me ma’am however I do have a witness who was standing behind me in the queue. I call Private Road.”
Private Road takes the stand and swears and oath “I swear to tell the whole truth nothing but truth so help me Gordon O’Donnell, oh and maybe a few porkies, just kidding.”
Judge Jenny points the pointer, now now…
Judge Jenny intervenes “Are you in the Army?”
“No ma’am”
“So what is your first name?”
“Well it’s private ma’am”
Hmm, thinks Judge Jenny “Well yes when my husband and I go for a weekend drive in the country we can see you are very popular.”
“Ma’am, I would like to question my witness, with you leave.” interjects Foodge as he senses this episode is getting away from him. “Can you tell the court what you witnessed on that day being the 31st June 1904?”
“Well yes. Big M’s story and the attendant statements are all true however Mr Foodge here wasn’t doing anything wrong, he simply had his pant bulger in place. I was standing behind him with two of the same. You see ma’am I have Micropenile encephalopathy, colloquially called small dick brain however the medical fraternity refer to it as MP’s. I had two pant bulgers in my hand when security guards pounced on Mr Foodge and threw him out and he didn’t even get a sausage from the sausage sizzle.”
“Yes well, Mr Foodge, what are you seeking in damages?” asks Judge Jenny.
“Well ma’am ten million Inner Cyberia Dollars and free sausage sizzle on white bread with onions and tomato sauce for the rest of my days.” replies Foodge.
“Order granted, case upheld. All damages accepted. Court costs to be paid by Buntings seeing you sell pant bulgers. Just one last question Mr Foodge, what does a pant bulger do?”
“Well it makes you appear more attractive to the opposite sex, not that I would ever tell granny that, by giving the impression that you are well endowed ma’am.”
With the failure of his daily debacles of selfish publicity to convince the public, Scomo will address his flagging popularity by piggy-backing on the popularity of the premiers on a twice weekly basis. This was announced with the subterfuge that a war footing is necessary in contradiction the need for such action over the previous year.
This manoeuvre was required when his tactical retreat to Facebook failed. He resorted to Facebook to avoid accountability to questions about his blatant failure to communicate a credible schedule for vaccination. His blatherings on Facebook contradicted his own advice that no-one should use it for government anouncements and highlighted that he is less popular than the disgraced Kelly in promotion of fake news.
So the master of marketing pivoted with the grace of an overstuffed dead feline.
He made another bellicose announcement with the distractions of vaccination hubs he had previously dismissed. This was…
Unverified Rumour by Pig’s Arms Cub Reporter Boo-Boo Bear
In a late breaking unverified rumour, allegedly started by Pig’s Arms Cub reporter Boo-Boo Bear, it is said that the Hollywood star Daisy Duck has passed away at the age of 101 due to natural causes (Duck a l’Orange).
There is some dispute that the oft-time paramour of Donald Trump Duck was actually 101 years old (born in 1920)- especially since Donald was born in 1934 – suggesting that DD was dating a pretty old broiler straight out of the hutch.
Birth records were sketchy – especially before colour came into the picture. Some celuloidists claim that she used a former name “Donna” however other experts insist that Donna Duck was the friend of a Mexican waterbird DD was dating for a time.
What IS known is that Daisy had a clutch of relatives and that her unnamed brother was married to triplets “April”, “May” and “June” – one of which is the mother of another brood of triplets more familiar to officianrdos of cartoons and comics – Huey, Louie and Dewey – or if you prefer, Hewey, Dewey and Louie. Louie was killed in a tragic shooting accident on the ironically-named Lake Placid.
The Pig’s Arms tried to contact the previously irascible but now apparently inconsolable Donald, but he was unavailable for comment.
Friends close to Daisy including Daffy Duck were quoted as saying “Psuffering Psuckertash”, Big Bird came out in spots and Foghorn Leghorn said “Ah say,Ah say, Ah say, Boy …”
The family is not expecting Uncle Scrooge to pick up the tab for the funeral despite the cost being described as “chicken feed”.
Funny, if that’s the word for my viewpoint from my cell, sorry college room in which I immerse myself in little else these days other than the study of careless and murderous intent described in terms of Crown and its judgements. Allow me to describe my commingled thoughts these last few days about specifically the Duke, that’s Mountbatten and not Wayne.
Funny, as I was saying, I was born in 1950 and I cannot recall the exact year the presence of the Duke came to my ken, but as I was reading before I went to school, I am guessing near the very most beginning of me. I recall sitting on my father’s shoulders waving a small flag as the Royal procession passed. That was the visit to Australia in 1954. I was not far older than three years of age. It is not a mystery why I got down to some really serious thinks the small past while. A thought wafted up like a liberating genie out of a bottle.
I am me in a large part because he was who and what he was.
Astounding. I was incredulous. He contributed to shaping me. I knew some men could be something like my father. Here an example was in full view on a world stage. He was sober albeit you do not understand what that exactly is, but by what it presents as. He was outspoken I knew when I was very young. That fascinated me. I saw him as brave in that regard when I learned he was opposed to the degradation of the environment. It goes on.
When I learned something of his history, when I started to understand the dimension of the political and moral dilemmas he witnessed in his experiences as a prince of Greece and a cousin of the Windsor royal family I felt astonishment at how rich the viewpoint must have been. I was a student of history and geography, economics, literature and later of the social sciences. When his kids got into scrapes and the worse they were with regard to immorality as we perceive it through the media, I wondered how much pain he must have been carrying, the worry. I had seen my stoic father walking with his shoulders back and his head held high through similar grief and worry. I had my own children.
I learned about Phillip’s mother and wondered about her decision in later life to choose a path of humility and penury in service to others. I imagined her influence on him.
Not sure when, but some time I conceived of the notion this man was so awed by the adoration of him his cousin formed when she was a child, he responded to what was required of him as a consort forever on that ground … aside the hordes, aside the media, aside Parliament, but as well because he understood this little girl. He in the first instance loved the beautiful young girl who adored him. He had no sides. I believe it is that simple.
*Sandshoe is Christina Binning Wilson (B.A. – History and Politics). Christina is a current undergraduate student of Bachelor of Laws (Graduate Entry) at an Australian University. She is a long-time contributing writer for the independent blog, the Window Dressers Arms, Pig and Whistle aka the Pig’s Arms. Nothing she writes can be taken as representing her alma mater or affiliates and no opinions she expresses are those of the College.
Faithful wife of 70+ years admits that it was a mistake to allow her late husband to drive himself to his own funeral.
“I should have known that no good would come of this” she told the Pig’s Arms.
Bystanders reported that the driver, referred to only as a Mr Duke swerved to avoid an allegation that he was an entitled racist bigot, before losing self control and rolling joints several times.
First responders on the scene administered Tenant’s Lager and confiscated all cameras, except that of our PA reporter who was cleverly disguised as a hedge fund manager.
The crack Edinburgh Metropolitan Police specialist VIP traffic accident cover-up team attended and reported that although the man was known to them, whether he in fact was licensed to do anything he wanted was unclear, but pretty likely to be the case and who am I to drop any big wig into the poo and still have a pension in tact said an alleged man dressed in serge.
Mr Duke was whisked away in an unmarked (because he hadn’t driven it) whisk and given the royal treatment by a generously proportioned celebrity chef given to sampling her own creations from the tips of long, sensuous fingers that have never seen a day’s work in their lives beyond the morning struggle with an unruly bra strap.
The Range Rover’s black box flight recorder has been recovered and is undergoing psychiatric analysis.
“What. ‘No’ it’s not possible or y’ don’t believe anything I ever say?”
“Yes.”
“How do you mean ‘Yes’?”
“100%”
“Where’s Big M?”
Hoo and Shoe are painting and papering the old House of Pain. There’s a jingle playing in a background sound track. Remember the jingle? Many hours of fun and laughter are spent at Glenda’s after? Everyone whistled it?
Big M puts his head in. He appears to be hiding the rest of what there is of a whole person behind the wall adjacent to the entrance door.
Shoe pronounces “Window Dresser’s Arms, Pig and Whistle” with relish.
“It’s a good trading name that is,” says HOO. HOO slaps his thighs, getting dust off his cover-all, well, his thighs. The Nail Salon’s gowns are none too commodious. Both of their bums (Shoe’s and HOO’s too) stick clear out the back from under the neat cloth ties that guarantee their frontal modesty. Shoe and HOO are saving their real clothes for a real job.
“The Boss wants us all to work harder.”
“Big, that’s ‘Job Description’.”
“Those gowns look better than the one I’ve got on. Not that I am ungrateful. It’s a saving.”
Shoe guesses the distance. She reaches over and throws Big M a gown pulled down earlier from the clothes stand beside Glenda’s wash troughs.
“Ta. I’ll call Big Al.”
“Who, Shoe? Who is he going to phone?”
“Who, HOO?”
We are down to the barest bones of our truth. We are to arrange a meeting of all the characters and plan a revival of business.
Thus Aristotle’s soul, of old that was, May now be damned to animate an ass, Or in this very house, for ought we know, Is doing painful penance in some beau; And thus our audience, which did once resort To shining theatres to see our sport, Now find us tossed into a tennis-court.
Window Dresser's Arms, Pig & Whistle 