I'm voting for you. You're Dead Meat.

The Pig’s Arms Boozecasting Corporation (PABC) psephologist and race-caller, Antony Puce – ever the man for an each way bet has been staying up all night sucking on his insider sauces.  Here’s his latest update on the Rudd / Gillard debacle / fisco / coup / sledging competition.

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I was mulling over the complex shitfight known as Australian politics last night.  Burning the midnight absinthe and Merv rolled up in the passenger seat of a chauffeured Turramurra starlifter.  He was sitting next to Giles – the best attired occupant of said vehicle.

On the back seat were a sartorially startling couple on their way back from the St Ives Golf Club Ball and Liberal Party fundraiser.  Merv had amazingly coaxed them this side of the big swamp (otherwise known as Sydney Harbour).  It was lucky Giles knew the way, because I’m certain they had never been out of the leafy northern suburbs since birth, except to streak to Kingsford Smith International airport – by way of transiting to Paris at the pointy end of an Airbus 380.  Possibly one of THEIR airbus 380s.

Rumour has it that the harbour tunnel was built so that they didn’t have to actually look at any of the dwellers on the south side on the way to overseas.

But Fern and Godfrey were not both halves of your average mega-wealthy couple.  As they took up comfortable seats in the Pig’s Arms ladies lounge, and quaffed the first of several bottles of Kurg (Merv would later have words with Manne over the little slip up with the label hastily stuck over the bottle that strongly reminded me of Porphyry Pearl), Godfrey let fly with some deeply inside information of the as he said “laughingly called” Labor shenanigans.  Quaff Quaff.

He said that according to Michael Crocker (at least I thought he said “Crocker”), Kevin Rudd has no expectations of winning the PMship.  It’s just a justification for reluctantly accepting his fate – the OK Corral Monday 10:00 – and opening the way for Rudd to have his shot at the main game – Secretary General of the UN, by way of first being the member for the backbench nearest to the unisex toilet and nappy-changing room.

Godfrey said that Crocker stepped it out for him – Julia wins the PM again – Rudd pledges full support for Julia – Crean sprays coffee out his nose, trying not to die laughing in front of the cameras.

Godfrey said that that last trip to Washington was to stitch up Hillary’s support for the Rudder to take over from Bunky Moon next year – just before the election.

Julia is supposed to lose in a Ruddslide.  Abbott cannot win, so he will need to run across the road in a triathlon and be mowed down by a paper truck owned by Fairfux who by then, will in turn be wholly-owned by Gina Rawhide.  Alternative theories suggest a return to that old conservative tactic – the Harold Holt man oeuvre board.

The replacement for Abbot will be problematic.  Turnbuckle is too wet for the miners, Jumpin’ Joe is just not bright enough, but is at least malleable – provided Christopher Pyne-o-clean does the thinking for him.  So the Turnbuckle / Pyne-o-clean team gets up.

The independents will be massacred and buried in unmarked shallow ballot boxes.

The Labor party will have an across the board spill.  Anthony Albuqueque – who has shown great courage and personal integrity by voting for Rudd – as a protest against Rudd getting shafted in a “not the Labor Party” way, without admitting that he also recognises that the massive disaffection with Rudd is based on the reality that Rudd was, is and always will be a micro-managing tosser who happened to run against the most hated Liberal since Bob Menzies played in the Bethlehem under sixes.

Julia refused to accept Albo’s resignation for fessing up that he’s not going to vote for her – possibly because without Albo, Labor does not have an attack dog in the front row – but more probably because he has the respect of many in caucus because he gives not a shit about anything else except punching out Tories.

On that basis, Julia has confirmed that she’s not tough enough to be PM – remembering that Australians prefer a PM that reminds them of their dad after he’s had a skinful and feels like fighting coppers.

So Albo will be our man – but not for ….. say …… ten years of total misery by which time….  prolonged mining in WA will cause Australia to overbalance and half slide off the East Coast continental shelf, pranging into New Zealand.

There will be a massive voter backlash due to proximity discomfort from Dame Kiri.  And Albo will be the man of the hour.  Clive Palmist, Twiggy Foreign and Gina Rhino will start mining the Pacific Ocean, Antarctica and Bill Grate’s bank account – figuring that it’s easier to just mine money and cut out all that dirt and noise – that requires (gasp) labour.

Rudd as UN chief will preside over the subjugation of the Arab states by the Chinese – brought about by a mistranslation of the mandarin for “we’ll have all of it” as “we laugh at awful tit”,

People will remember with fondness / deep anger Australia’s experiment with a hung parliament and a government led by our first shiela PM, but being Australians we will cop it sweet and stand by our man.

Our Man Albo.

I finished copying down Godfrey’s diatribe, Emailed it off to the editor (Voice – who will take out ALL the dashes and a goodly-proportion of the apostrophes) and toddled into the Ladies lounge for a share of what was left of the Porphyry Kurg.
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*Editor’s note: The proof-reader is currently on emergency leave of absinthe.