Some ill-educated folk say that if you lie down with dogs you get fleas, and then proceed to allege or infer that a whole bunch of my mates are canine’s, and accuse me of scratching far too much.
Forgive them Lord for they know not what they do, or who they’re really hanging out with sucking prawns at Gambaros and downing flutes of expensive champagne.
Gambaros? Sssshhh. Loose lips sink ships.
And pea-hearted piss head wide boy wannabe wise guys always end up pissing in other people’s waters and turning them poisonous.
Pretentious wannabe big-wig wankers with hidden pasts know the go, but the fools who flock around them in ignorance or out of ambition haven’t got a damn clue, and unlike Archie who surrounds himself with an eclectic coterie of saints, sinners and citizens waiting to be save these nose turn-upping snobs and sanctimonious wannabe whatevers never get the scoops.
They never quite get to their misguided grail either.
Gotta keep your nose to the ground kid, and live in the love of the common people if ya wanna get to those good gates.
Or at least live knowing that you’re back’s safe because you’ve got mates.
It’s not my milieu that are the rabid wretched dogs dear Country Road wearers, We’re just the poor kids from the Geebungs and beyond of every suburb in every town in every city in all the word that the purebred beasts and their mongrel pretender mates bite.
We’re the punters that Jesus called poor in spirit, and promised the kingdom of heaven.
And do you know what?
He was right.
We’re the outsiders trying to climb the stairway to the kingdom by taking the long, hard high road and carrying our kids on our backs as we go.
Yep some of us have sinned along the way.
So f*cking what?
So did St Paul.
It wasn’t our fault. We just got lost along the way down to Damascus, but Grace is Amazing even of she might still have to whore herself as a honey trap princess to Pisa’s of sh*t or their targets so she can feed her kids, and once she found us we stopped being lost and blind and alone, and now that we can see and are no longer afraid we’re going to save Grace too.
Jesus didn’t willingly walk up that hill and die in agony tied to a cross under the blazing sun with a Centurion’s spear in his side so we could leave her alone did he? He didn’t give it all away so we could hang out in the elite boroughs with the hoi polloi and their politician pickpocket boys either
Jesus lived with the sinners. He ate, drank, laughed and prayed with them; he raised poor men who couldn’t afford medical treatment from the dead, hugged and kissed lepers, and washed the feet of wanton women decreed harlots by judges who he warned not to judge them, because one day it was all going to come straight back at them.
Well baby here we are and there are they, and hey and is that the bloke who’s been taking the Pisasale for years in that prison cell, and who are those blokes in the flash suits sprinting out of Ipswich at a hundred miles an hour in every direction now the hour of judgement is upon their false messiah and the end of the long lunch is nigh?
If it’s all a bit too biblical for you Barabbas I’m sorry, but bad luck. Most true life tales of sin and lust and light and dark and usually are, and if you think gardens of good and evil are just a Geebung invention then sunshine it’s time you thought again,
I’ll tell you two things for free on your way to work though.
And pea-hearted piss head wide boy wannabe wise guys always end up pissing in other people’s waters.
Jesus wasn’t the only skinny sportsfan holding a hammer who had things sussed out spot on; another Carpenter did too Karen was her name.
We’ve only just begun.
And if you want a friend in politics, buy a dog.
It’ll bite you too, but at least the first cut’s the deepest.