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If you asked your first missus where she’d like you to put it tonight and she took more than a year to respond you’d wake up the day after and find yourself lying in bed copping head from the third recipient of your 4 carat diamond ring and 24 carat glistening gold wedding band wouldn’t ya?

I mean, you would have given the first sheila the short shift after a few dumstruck days wouldn’t ya, just like Kevvie down at the Munger did to his first missus Marie all those years ago after he asked her which ball she liked best and a couple of years later she replied Archibald to a bare wall in her by now furniture-less duplex in Delaware Street, just up the ditch from Downfall Creek.

So if it’s good enough for Kevvie to kick the recalcitrant, wordless wench to touch, why the hell is the Wide Brown Land taxpayer patiently waiting years or more for the highly-paid trough-snouting legal eagles employed at our expense on the Child Abuse Royal Commission to hand down a verdict on the pimps, priests, perverts and pedos who have been the subject of the all-too-gentle examinations during the 44 case studies – none of which have lasted more than a short-dayed fortnight – that the public purse sucking civil servants have conducted over the past three and a half years.

Wonder what I’m on about sportsfans?

Well let me tell you for free.

Those buggers running the show at the Royal Commission are slack-arsed skivers who need a rocket stuck up their rectums, just like many of the abuse victims had a missile launched in theirs, because the last finding that the highly-paid LLB wielding slackers (2 for the price of one at any for-profit uni in the nation) delivered was in relation to a case study conducted all the way back in May 2015, fifteen bloody months ago!

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Highly paid Royal Commission lead counsel David Lloyd sitting where he is most comfortable – on his expensively coiffured arse

Jesus Goddamn Christ, what the hell is wrong with these hangers on? Don’t they get that abuse victims are hanging on to the edges of their second-hand tear-stained armchairs waiting on the infinitesimal sliver of justice and frozen corn-like comfort that a public pronouncement of their predators criminal acts will afford them?

After all they have seen and heard – grown men bawling, grandmothers whoring, parents and children despairing – don’t the folk we are funding to uncover the feral fiends who f*cked our children understand the intensity of our pain and the need for it be stilled?

Pull your f*cking fingers out you self-sure civil servants and do the bloody job we are paying you to do. Stop farting around and deliver victims what they need.

Truth.

Justice.

And saying that it’s over.

No more child abuse.

No f*cking way.

It’s not that hard is it hey?