Well here I am at the Bunger with a gut full of the best pink lemonade in town, and my hunger sated by the free 3 o’clock sausage sizzle – as many as you can eat, onions and red Rosella thrown in – and I’m feeling pretty good about the trip to Cash Converters this morning to hock the missus and the tin lids for a a couple of hundred to whack on Quirky to retain the mayoralty, and thinking I’ve copped overs on both counts.

There’s nothing in the whole wide world that can spoil the sublime sense of satisfaction I’m feeling right now is what I’m thinking. And then for about the 27 thousandth time in my life I am reminded of that eternal truth: this is a world born of chaos, and the only certainty outside of death and taxes is that nothing stays the same for too long, and as soon as ya start to reckon you’re bulletproof, old Achilles comes back in human form and kicks you in the bloody heel.

My incarnation of Achilles is bloody Kevvie, the bloke that only a few short hours ago I was lauding as a God, but that of course is before the damn dingo turned on me.

Yep, sportsfans, I know it’s hard to believe, but the bastard’s held out on me, you and the whole bloody world, for while he may have shared the oil on his KevBung poll on the Lord Mayoralty, and offered us the inside info after he’d nabbed first slice at the top price, he neglected to tell us about his polling on the referendum question.

The bloody referendum! The one that we’d all friggin’ forgotten about. The yes/no on extending State politician’s terms from 3 years to 4.

We all know it’s gunna get done – who’d give those bums an extra highly paid year in the House of Broken dreams carrying on like pork chops and doing sweet bugger all else, even if it did save us going to the polling booth on average about 7 times in our life – but only Kevvie knows exactly how far the questions going to be smashed by, for the sneaky bastard has been doing secret polling for the past month at the Saturday karaoke night, and he’s got the numbers sussed to the single digit.

70/30 against is what his exact polling shows, give or take a few percent, and although he claims he simply forgot to mention it because the referendum’s such a non event, cussing Cassie behind the Zillman Waterhole’s this arvo reckons Kevvie’s been putting his money down in increments all afternoon, slipping every bugger double shots so they’ll kick him more tips and then throwing every bloody cent on the margin bet.


He’s set to win a fortune if he gets the ‘No’ vote 65-75% margin right, and of course the old bugger will, but the market’s closed all we’re all left simply with our 50% interest in an afternoon gained by backing Quirky straight out.

I blew up about it of course, but Kevvie’s told the whole Bunger bar that the Butterfly’s just an ungrateful ingrate, and said directly to me that if I don’t like it I can go an bloody drink in Zillmere.

Now of course that’s a fate worse than death, so I’ve had to cop it on the chin. But don’t worry, I’ve got a long memory. So when Gorgeous George’s probation conditions end later in the old  Mr Kevvie may well be finding himself copping a visit from old Arch and his little brother from down Sydney way.

We’ll see how smart the bastard is then, won’t we punters?


I just hope Gorgeous brings his sister the Goddess with him too. After all, there’s no point drinking Gin without a Tonic is there? And you don’t order straight sour at Brisvegas’s finest chinky restaurant the Chun Shang do ya? Nah, it’s sweet and sour that you cough up your nine bucks fifty for. And of course toasted Kev tastes so much better with a bit honey spread on top of the toaster.

Don’t you worry about that.