The bloke above is an obnoxious wanna be punk rocker who hates Catholics, Nuns, Priests, the Mentally Ill, the Disabled, those of Irish Ancestry, New Zealanders, Palestinians, Anti-Discrimination Law, the rule of law, our successful economic system, and who knows what else given his febrile mind and fertile paranoid imagination.

But he does like some things however.

Total F*cking Terrorism being one of them. His words, not mine.


This fella (I won’t call him a man, because men don’t launch unsolicited cowardly attacks on women and kids) is named Ben Jones, and he also likes paganism, witchcraft, the anti-Christ and killing unborn kids.

Lovely bloke Ben isn’t he?


Normally I wouldn’t bother writing about a f*ckwit like him, because they are a dime a dozen out in the burbs, but Ben has a wife who wants to run Brisbane, and if she goes even part the way of supporting his bizarre world views then the electors of the city need to know a little bit about the fella who shares her pillow and presumably spouts his sicko nonsense into her ear of an evening.

The poor woman’s name is Kerryn Loose Jones, and I imagine she’s merely hanging in there with this unfortunate looking odd chap for the kids sake, so I normally wouldn’t conflate the views of a bird and her Ben, because its an equal opportunity world and a sheila’s free to do as she likes and the consequences of her actions are her own.

Her actions however are the exact reason that I am writing this article, because the Loose with the Truth Labor candidate for Doboy made the decision to enlist her loathsome husband to jump out there on the campaign trail and spruik her virtues, and now she’s fair game, as I’m sure even Germaine Greer would agree.


He’s looking good, the Satan loving fool, isn’t he? The mad hat, the 80’s Bros style dacks, the fat gut and the glasses say it all.

Why’s he pointing at the grass though? Does he have a bit of a thing for the green?

And why the hell isn’t the Bovver Boy at work doing the business on behalf of his union’s dwindling band of members, rather than walking the streets looking weird and trying to win his woman a few votes?

Surely in the wake of a Royal Commission he isn’t out campaigning during work time is he? Not I suppose that work time means a lot to a bloke that back in the days when I was sane and managing a union I once sprung skiving at home when he was supposed to be doing the business for the low-paid workers he once professed to love, then promptly abandoned for $115 000 bucks a year. Which I guess is the modern day equivalent of old Judas’ 30 pieces of silver.


Know what though?

With campaign workers whose eyes look like Benny Boy’s (above), is it any wonder that Hot Rod wants to bring back the grass?


After all, who doesn’t want to be stoned in paradise?

But hey, we shouldn’t talk about it, should be B-Boy?

Well, not much anyway.