Oh dear, she’s fallen for the three card trick.

Our accidental Premier Assetstacia that is.

I guess you can only get by on a smile and a shoeshine for so long, and our ‘Enry’s daughter has reached the 3 hour mark on her Westfield car park, and now has to pay the price to get the boom gate to lift.

The problem is that she hasn’t the faintest idea what the price is, but I’m about to tell both her and you, just as a few weeks ago I told the girl of a million dreams whose misfortune is that the Twirler is the girl of a million and one. They both drink Pimms though, which just goes to show that I don’t have a whole lot of differentiation in my taste in women (sorry Sunshine and Alice).

So other than not drinking Pimms, what’s the Premier done wrong Archie I hear you ask?

Well, everything, I reply.

Remember Rob Pyne, and his open rebellion that suddenly morphed into silence, and thus put a spring in the guileless Premier’s step?


Bad news gal – he was foxing, and now, desperate to get your liquor lockdown laws locked in by dropping on bended knee and begging Bad Boy Billy the Bird Basher to give you his vote, you’ve walked right into the trap. 

You’ve forgotten that Billy and Bob are tight haven’t you? Tighter than a thrice wrapped rubber band, and that both of them have a hate on for the Beefcake, the rising star of Parliament with the unfortunate impediment of pissing off everyone that he meets, thick-skinned fellas like myself excluded, because I actually like the bloke a lot. But I know who and what he is, and he tends to alienate those with less awareness and propensity to look for a fellas strength rather than his sins.

Having said that, the Beefcake’s alleged bullying is simply a sideshow, because Rob Pyne’s a generational politician and a bloody smart one at that, and knows how to play both a short and long game. And what the Divine Mr Pyne has said, and what he wants, are two completely different things, as Assetstacia is about to discover, much to her chagrin, but far more so to fellas like Stirlo Hinchcliffe and his lobbyist mates.

You see, the Divine Mr Pyne has used the lockout laws as bait, the worm on the hook to draw the guileless girl from Inala to the edge of the creek where she either has to bite the raw prawn and cut a deal with Billy the Basher or abandon her lockdown laws  – that she actually believes the public care about, when in fact they couldn’t give a flying f*ck, welcome to the fish bowl of George Street – and cut the DV specialist free.

But it’s too late, she can’t, and now she has to strike a deal with the Basher on his terms, but the fool doesn’t realise that they are not in fact the political novice’s terms, they are those of the canny career politician who was the only bloke to stand solid behind him when all hell descended and his colleagues cut him loose.


And what exactly are the terms of Billy and Bob’s deal?

An independent inquiry into corruption.

Not a CMC, or CJC, or CCC or whatever you want to call it, but a fair dinkum non-political inquiry into the truth surrounding the largesse afforded to dodgers like Hong Kong Tony, and David Devine, and Mr Sinnathamby of Springfield, and various other clowns carrying metaphorical brown bags.

Pyne and Gordon will, as independents, hold their seats forever.

The rest of the MP’s, from both corrupt sides of the house – particularly the members of the ALP who have held power for the best part of 2 decades – are in for a world of pain, and the only way to avert it is to tell the Basher to naff off. And then he and Pyne the Divine switch their votes, and the government falls.


Oh dear, Assetstacia dear.

How the hell do you smile your way out of this one?