foresure

Regular readers of this site will be well aware of the disdain that your correspondent holds for the suburb of Zillmere, the absolute cesspit on the wrong side of the Petrie line where people such as the Chismunk once chased an oval ball around O’Callaghan Park in the vain hope of kicking a 6-pointer in a girl’s game while the real men of Geebung for banging it up for six tackles in the game of the Gods.

Zillmere is the land that time forgot, and nothing much good ever came out ofthe joint except perhaps for Crystal, the tall blonde sexy bird who runs the local TAB and gives as good as she gets in the Zillmere v the Bung debate, even though she’s the spokesheila for the perennial losing side and is therefore forever pushing sh*t up a steep hill.

But not even the most fervent advocates for the Devil’s Playground like Crystal would ever claim that Zillmere had a beach, unless of course you consider the edge of the Cabbage Tree marsh as a sunbaking spot, which perhaps the mosquitoes and snakes might, but n0t the average human being, if such a beast exists in the Sail Maker’s Marsh, which is the literal translation of the swamp of a joint’s name.

Jared Cassidy however is clearly not your average human being, for not only did he defy gravity and the deep disdain that the denizens of Brisbane held for Hot Rod Harding by retaining his Council ward spot, but the hirsute member of the ALP’s municipal rearguard rump did so by promising to bring global warming to the waterholes.

That’s right sportsfans, the jaw-disguised Jarred ‘Butch’ Cassidy promised that he and the Sundance Kid would bring the beach to the burbs and make Deagon AND an even better place to live by installing a free water play park in Zillmere as part of his Foreshore upgrade.

For sure Butch, for sure.

Now I personally spent the better part of my youth chucking stones at kids from Zillmere, and not once did I ever pick one up from the foreshore, because to have one you have to have a beach, and in all my years I’ve never seen a dumper wash up on the sand of the dump, and that’s simply because there isn’t any bloody beach within 10 miles of the joint, the mangroves down at Nudgee being the closest approximation.

Where the bloody hell Deagon AND is is anyone’s bloody guess, but I for one have never been one to let the truth get in the way of a good story, and clearly neither is Butch, but at the end of the day it doesn’t really matter because there’s no show without Punch, and there’s none without the Sundance Kid either, so the snot-ridden sprogs from the state houses on the wrong side of the tracks will have to continue using the Waterholes as their aquatic playground, and the nouveau yuppies down at Sandgate will have to wait another hundred years of Labor rule to have their 19th century relic of a library updated to the modern age.

foresuressss.jpg

I guess the rest of us will have to simply spend the next few years trying to find the mythical land of AND, and wondering when reading a Reader’s Digest or a Dr Seuss book down at the library became a user experience, while Hot Rod Harding will use the time looking for some alternate public assets to privatise as he restarts his career as a Macquarie Banker, although Mum says he never really stopped, and that the Banker has had his Hot Hand on it for a long time still.

Meanwhile bushy old Butch will continue hanging out on street corners with his mates trying to pick up and go down, dreaming of Hot Rods in the sun as the storm clouds gather all around.

Ain’t it grand to be a dreamer sportsfans, for sure AND.

butch