Other News Yesterday - Special Christmas edition

 

PM Scomite has been running unbound since he managed to escape the day of the long chisels, narrowly avoiding back door encryption denial and decent dealings with people escaping shitty situations on boats.  With a smirk that has cats in cream jealous he has trashed a decades long stratagem to manage Jerusalem as part of a two state solution, which has everyone cranky; and, announced a junta sponsored anti-corruption agency to police everyone but the junta and its friends in closed hearings, providing a threshold for ‘grand theft polly’ is discernible and those affected have been given sufficient heads up to get their affairs in order.   

He has trumpeted a surplus in the next budgetary cycle, based on a coal driven solution to all things climactic, ongoing fair trade between corporate all day suckers affixed to the Grabber-in-Chief and China juntas, and an optimistic view that mother nature unbound is not about to exact a terrible toll for carbon abuses.

 

In other news Bill Longhop has foretold the end of days, the end of poverty, the end of boozy lunches with benefits, and the end of tax holidays at mate’s rates for fully paid up members and associates of the Safe Seats Society.  With all the flare and sparks of a conductor of a Sunday school tambourine ensemble, Bill regaled delegates at the alternative junta’s annual bash with tales from the movement’s crypt, exhuming spirits of the faithful dead, memories of hill lightings past and exhorting members to grasp the hour, butcher the day and flog the horse.   

It was scintillating to watch the PM ‘anticipatorius’ strut his stuff, preen his chooks and ready the feather dusters for the upcoming goat circus that will deliver the junta banners into their keeping, for at least a year or so.

Meanwhile the country swelters, melts and teeters toward a fiery, moth eaten cataclysm as India humiliates us in cricket yet again.  Odes to the day when we could actually score enough runs to be competitive for five days are being written by the few journalists and commentators remaining whose brains aren’t terminally soused by red wine and who can write something that doesn’t involve ‘going forward’ from the ‘get go’ ‘in this space’ at the ‘end of the day’, which, when you think about it, essentially sums up the state of the nation and our cricket – ergo, “going forward from the get go in this space at the end of the day we’re waltzing matilda toward a billabong as dry as a bull’s bum going up a hill backwards.”

Happy tree festival to all Alter’s readers….