A brief interview with Foul Tudge – Architect of the Robo-debt scheme and current holder of the musical chair for Immigration*, from his view of the world atop the king’s Parliament House.

“7 million! You didn’t!”, said I.

“We did. I mean, you did, you gave $7 million to the Red Cross.”

“7 million! Well that makes me feel better. At least we, I mean you, can sleep easy knowing that all those humans stranded here in the Lucky Country on those endlessly recycling bridging visas can at least get a good feed while they’re locked out by our rock steady moral compass.”

“Yes,” he says, “and … They can draw on their super-annuation like all the real Aussies. And,” … wait for it – its like a game show – “they have access to Medicare.”

“Thats a lot of dosh to share around amongst 40 odd thousand illegals. How much did we, I mean you, give to the Red Crescent?”

“Its a pandemic. Australia’s a Christian country. If these, these non Christians, want, well, they can just go home to wherever it is they came from in the first place. We’re a Christian country and we look after our own.”

“Our generosity knows no bounds. I hear too that the king, we’ve, you’ve, given 2 million shmackers to Lebanon to help with the reverse miracle there this week. Wow. How’re we, I mean you, gonna claw that back? Have we, you, the king, ever thought of making the corporations pay their fair share of tax?”

“No. Dont be stupid. That would be a breach of fair trade. A curtailment of their rights under a free market economy.”

“Too true, too true … Lucky for good old Aussie democracy.”

“Democracy! We’re having a pandemic, there’s no time for democracy. Democracy’s what’s got you, us, into the problem in the first place. Exactly why we’ve – the Gov – prioritised the alteration of Australia’s character. Got to stamp out generosity. Generosity leaves no place for dribble-down. And as we all, you, know, there’s no progress without dribble-down … “

“Oh I believe you, Mr Tudge. How are our, your, the king’s, refugees going out on Christmas Island?” I asked, “Are they included in the 7 million shmackers of aid we’ve, the king, you’ve, given the Red Cross? Can they draw on their super?”

“They’re under surveillance. And that’s none of our, your, my, business.”

“Sweet then, I’ll put my feet back up and dream of all the king’s dribble.”

“The quality of a life which constantly envisages its end, and emotionally fluctuates between optimism and despair, is so reduced by mental torture that it cannot be permitted to continue, year in and year out. At some point, either the torture or the life must be stopped.” – Geoffrey Robertson.

Emerald, Qld, in the car-park of the Big Shopping Centre – a sign of the times … A ute, newish, all the silly chrome and light-bars stuff & big stickers that said, ‘If You Weren’t Born Here Fuck Off’, ‘Dont Come Here and Change MY Country – Fuck off – Go Home and Change Yours’ there was another, a big red and white one with Australian Fascist Union and a number of silly signs and symbols, masonic compasses, fists etc on it … It looked a bit like the NSW firies badge (be assured that it wasn’t!). And the obligatory Eureka Flag – this one pisses me off, this is our flag not some junior fascist cretin’s. These were big stickers. I get chipped a lot up here, and out in the bush, for my Union stickers and my ARM one, but believe me they ain’t nothing quite like this.

I wanted to get a photo of the young fella and his ute, for my kids, but he was rather peeved when I asked. If I hadn’t been standing chatting to a couple of greyer Nomads and wasn’t in such a public place, I’m sure he would a ‘done me’. He was a fair bit younger and a fair bit bigger. “Jeez,” I said, “I’da thought you’d be proud to stand in front of your ute and have ya photo taken, what with wearing ya heart on so ferocious a sleeve.”

Ya get a finger and a mouthful of dribbled vomit for that. Well, I s’pose, who dares wins.

*The rule by ministerial discretion form for this portfolio must be an absolute mess. All those scratched out signatures and discretionary amended rulings from the previous occupants. Seems like there’s a new occupant everytime a new journo asks a question. S’pose it covers up the butts well.