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The never-ending comedy that is the sonorous duet comprised of Assetstacia’s complete absence of political judgement, coupled with the clowns of the Courier-Mail’s cluelessness, continues to sell newspapers as the poor old punters who haven’t been tipped into Archie’s daily deliverances pay their 2 odd bucks for a fish and chip wrapper and sit for hours at the kitchen table worrying about the Queensland lockout laws.

Yep that’s right punters, Aunty Maud in Mt Isa, and Uncle Claude in Calliope, and his girlfriend Rhonda in Rocky, and her twins Theo and Theda in Thango0ol, and Grandpa and Grandma in Geebung, and my nephew Norm in Noosa and his sister Sal in Salisbury – they’re all munching on their cornflakes goggle-eyed and going ga ga because Billy the Basher won’t come to the parade with the c*nts who clobbered him and punted him from the party.

That bast*rd Billy. He just point-blank refuses to pass the liquor lockout laws that lockup the $10 a lolly water monopoly between midnight and dawn for the pernicious platoon of deep-pocketed lobbyists and their pub-owning piranhas of paying clientele.

I mean, f*ck me Aunty Maud, what’s the point of a 21st century bootlegging beer baron donating all those precious pennies to the bloody Labor Party if they can’t lock down the drunken d*ckhead prepared to pay a pineapple for jug of jungle juice so that they can fuel up for a fight at 5am when the doors open and the sheriffs are changing shift, rather than at two in the morning when the bulk of the boys in blue are on the beat?

What the hell is wrong with that goose Gordon? Doesn’t he get it? Why can’t the clown understand that iced up idiots losers are less likely to lash out at other loudmouths and lairs when they’ve got another four or five hours of fourex under their belts and are let loose onto the streets en-masse in their thousands when the doors to the pumped-up price pubs are finally unlocked?

Is that bloke Billy a bloody moron or something? For Cairns and cans sake, young Robby Pyne the Divine gets it! Sure he might not miss the chance to be quoted as the single socialist in the party to actually oppose the lockout laws, but despite having his boom and his mike bagged by the Beefcake, he’s stuck solid and is voting with the caucus of Labor lemmings despite his misgivings about the whole half-cocked mad crusade by midgets like Yvette Daft, and amateurs like Anthony Lyneham, and the decree of everyone’s dumbfounded darling Accidental Annastacia herself.

You know what we need to break this damn devil of a deadlock? Pyne the Divine needs to have a quiet word in his mate the Basher’s ear and say Billy Boy, I don’t like this damned Drambuie dealers dogs breakfast of a policy either, but do you want to see the bloody LNP back on the front benches doing us all over son?

Of course you don’t! We can do that ourselves mate, and mark my well crafted words we will! What do you want mate? Tell me, please, so I can go and put it to the perplexed Premier Palaczszuk and she can pass the piece of useless legislation that the hapless halfwit’s lazzed her whole hopeless leadership on.

What is it that you want son? What’s that – a totally independent inquiry into corruption, devoid of the Labor cronies of the CCC? Is that all? Geez Gordo, why didn’t you just say so? These clowns have got nothing criminal to conceal, or any slings from the Heineken handlers to hide.

I’ll just gallop on down to George Street and tell the darling that we’ve got a deal. I’ll back you on the independent inquiry, and you’ll lay down on the lockouts, and Bob will be all our bloody uncle won’t he? No wucking furries about that.

Sorry Stirlo? You don’t want us delving into the deep dark business of slings, share tips and slap up feeds? Well bad luck brother, like it or lump it and then hump it back down to Brighton, ‘cos unless you want to cut your salary in half and sit bored sh*tless on the back benches that the way we’re going to play it.

Capiche c*ckhead? Yeah, thought so.

Anyway, I’m off to see Assetstacia and then it’ll all be apples. But just before I make the trek I’m gunna give Archie a quick tinkle on the telegraph and tell him son you had us sussed from the start, and it’s just our fine fortune that the fools were too vain and vapid to take on board your tip about out tactics.

A new sucker’s born every minute you once told me, and Arch ain’t that simply the terrible truth. I’ll just duck in and break the bad news to the bird who thinks she’s the boss, and then we’ll catch a cab to the airport and cruise up to Cairns for a feast of fries calamari and crab that we’ll deliver to the poor peasants and slapped up sheilas sleeping rough on the streets hey?

We’ll just eat chips wrapped up in the chump piffle-pumper cheap chups mile off beam opinions, and then we’ll get to work on getting rid of the rabble ruining our sensational state.

Pass me the lobbyist list Laura.

Sayonara subdivides, and hasta la vista half-block heroes. It’s time for we coves who care about democracy to clean the c*nts out once and for all.

The arseholes. If only they’d listened to Archie.

Ha ha bloody  ha! The Butterfly’s bested the bast*rds again!