gays

I spent a little time in the Northern Territory a couple of years back. In Darwin, to be precise.

Oh my f*cking God, what an over-rated sh*thole that town is. The arse end of the earth, an insane earthly approximation of hell, just 10 degrees hotter, and perhaps a thousand feet lower, and in the Top (Arse) End capital the local River Hades is full of crocodiles, rather than serpents, and give me a good old asp any day instead of a bare, shining-toothed demon from the Ice Age and beyond.

The dud joint’s House of Broken Dreams – the Top End’s Legislative Assembly, the garish faux brothel in the center of town that only journo’s, protesters, poliies and their staffers, and public servants ever visit – is full of crocodiles too.

Or not quite. For crocodiles have brains. NT politicians – with the exception of the crocodile at which you should never smile, the deeply corrupt Chief Minister Adam Giles, the steaming desert’s Antipodean version of Franco – do not.

John Elfernik, known far and wide in the Territory as ‘The Elf’, in particular has no brains, as the closeted homosexual former copper who posits himself as the he-man of deep north has displayed to the whole wide world – or at least the whole Wide Brown Land in recent days.

The bloke is an imbecile, let’s call a spade a spade, but when you’re a grade 5 imbecile swimming in a sea of seven’s, eight’s, nine’s and perhaps even tens – just check out the javelin-jigging former Sports Minister, or the Klu Klux Klan imitating former Deputy Chief Minister – then you’re sailing on mighty smooth water toward and in a sweet-salaried Ministry, until all of a sudden you’re not.

And then the chickens come home to roost, and suddenly the Bad Elf finds himself on the shelf. Just where he likes it the most.

elf