Well here we are. All the good souls, us beautiful people, awaking on another sunny day on the east coast of the land of Nod. The news today – so my wet dog says – is, Special powers. Ha!
Special powers from whom? Where? We have a suspended parliament where do ‘special powers’ come from? Show us the docs, the minutes .. who ran this through who? Was there any dissent? By whom? Was it allowed? I don’t believe it …

“Infidelity does not consist in believing, or in disbelieving; it consists in professing to believe what one does not believe.” – Thomas Paine.

The ‘authorities’ – Home Office dragoons, may we be lucky enough to suppose – using surveillance cameras around campgrounds and on highways monitoring the movements and especially, the doings, of the mobile homeless – Illegal yesterday; special today. Yeah, sure … and Hillsong pay their due taxes. Here’s what to do, Gnomads and stranded tourists, to counter this rubbish. Find ya camps – use ya common sense, keep ya distances and stay safe – and when Dutton’s boys come rollin by, panning their cameras and shining their lights and pointing their tasers at you … turn your back to them, bare ya butts, and give em the good long finger. Every one of us. … And black out the vehicle number-plates too. Snoopy thieving crims … Special powers my arse!

Ok. Just for a second, I’ll play the game – where is our government? Do we have one? Wherever this, these, curtailments, bans, bars, threats, laws, etc are coming from, they appear to be decrees. Decrees issued out of nowhere – in a democracy. Ridiculous. They’re calling it legal ministerial discretion which unleashes all sorts of problems of definition … Though the nearness to god of our chief lawgivers ensure that whatever the definition finally agreed upon, we can be assured it will be pre-corrupted; neo-d … Perhaps, as I’m certain we will find, all the nastiness and threats we receive on this holiday weekend issue out of the king’s private church – his Pandora’s Box .. no discretion required from ministers in there. Just good old behind closed doors boxed up secrecy. An enclave of darkness to be our guide. And, we deserve no better!

I’m told – the old dog again – that we do have a government. A mini parliament. Right, so who’s here in this rotten crate? Is there anyone who could reason intelligently? Who could perhaps actually tell a real fact from a true fact? Or, is this closed up crate only full of the king’s cretins? I’d s’pose that makes it easy for him, no one to challenge his miracles .. or their meaning. Speaking of, my calculation is that we’re getting pretty close to the biblical 40 days and nights of rain. Good old Barney. And, here we are festering away on the cusp of the most important 40 days of life – the king’s gods bastards death! Its ok folks, it all play play stuff. Nice story but mainly about the chocolate. This dude, revolutionary from the desert, comes along and tries to chuck the priests out. Makes a bit of a mess; you know, taints a bit of divine gold (probably pinched a bit in truth!). Anyway the priests get their folk, the Home Office boys, to string the poor bastard up give im a few pokes with the pointy end of their clubs and just generally crowd around and have a sing song while he dies. His buddies scarpered. Gutless immigrant hangers on you know .. only in it for the dosh.

Anyway, apparently some chicks come by in the evening, haul the carcass down and chuck it in a cave. A prostitute and the fellas adoptive mother. So the official story goes. Then, some other fella comes along about a day later, wanders into the cave to have a leak and viola – the dead fuckers gone! Zombie on the loose! Well, this is where all the goodness in the world comes from. This one fuckin zombie wanders about for forty days giving away all sorts of rubbish, telling funny stories and spreading a virus all about the land. Its good stuff, though I liked the first Bond better and well, if I’d’a writ the story I’d’a had a bit more reality in it. More killing more revenge. Bang bang bang – or, hack hack hack it woulda been. You’d have to expect that if some fucker had been strung up by the priests just for wandering about town with prostitutes telling funny stories, he’d be pissed, eh. There’d be a hell of a lot of hack hack hack going on if something, or someone, had managed to light a fire hot enough under the dead revos arse to bring him back from the dead. You’d think, after his cabinet briefing with a couple a priests … his arse woulda been sore enough to raise a red hell.

He’s not a Bond though, sad to say. So, after his forty days of tripping all about the country, this fella, the dead revolutionary, he climbs up a mountain and just keeps going up. Up. So the story goes. Yep its a pretty stupid story but believe me, there are people who believe this sort of crap – take our king for example. Anyway, in the end most of us educated people think it was most likely some sort of advertising campaign from the global chocolate people. Thats right kids, no god no chocolate. This is a thought worth dwelling on for a moment … Is it not? Because, chocolate is important.

And that’s it. The most important story ever told; and its all about the commercialisation of chocolate and priestly secrecy. I can’t help thinking that if some dick had rolled a bit of rock over that cave entrance all those years ago it would have saved mankind a helluva lot of trouble. Shut up the pestilence immediately, fuck quarantine, kill it – before it had bestowed all these wretched miracles on us.

Ain’t it amazing, all these silly stories we use to dumb each other down when were mostly dumbed down enough already. The jokes really on us. Our children to be more precise We should be roaming freely about some wilderness, all armed with shotguns hunting kings and queens not gorging ourselves on liberal chocolate rabbit. I’d expect that that’s why – our mini parliamentarians – are all locked away in the cupboard with the king and his priests – they’ve been hoarding an aweful lot of chocolate. Bastards.

“A theory is something evolved to fit the known facts. And it becomes a successful theory if it survives the introduction of hitherto unknown facts. And it becomes an accepted theory if it can make accurate predictions about things or events that have not yet been discovered, or have not yet occured.” – Christopher Hitchens.