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Hot Rod Harding’s Labor’s man for the Lord Mayoralty, the fine successor to Greg Rowell (remember him? perhaps you do if you’re a cricket fan) and Ray Smith (don’t even bother, you’re no chance), the Last Minute Larry candidates that joined the party just as the starter’s whistle blew for the big race.
They might as well stayed home the pair of them, rather than standing on street corners distracting motorists by waving frantically like Woodies Harrelson and Allen on Ice.
But if you thought that they were useless candidates, well you ain’t seen nothing yet, cos Hot Rod’s here to rock your house, and he’s got a plan. A plan to f*ck the Brisbane Northside, destroy viable businesses employing thousands, knock down a few houses, and make his Macquarie banks mates even richer in the process by doing it all via a public-private partnership or two or three.
It’s madcap stuff, and would be hilarious if it wasn’t so bloody serious.
I’m going to tell you all about it over the next few weeks and months, so that come March when you head down to the local ballot box and cast your vote for Quirkey as Mayor you’re doing so because you’re informed about Hot Rod’s wrecking ball approach to running and ruining a city that he’s spent about 2/3 of f*ck all of his life living in, not just because you don’t know, don’t care, and simply don’t give a rats arse.
Before we get to old Hot Rod though, I wanna introduce you to Labor’s ‘renewal’ candidate, the young fella who is going to drag the underprivileged punters of the Richland Ward up and out of poverty, and have them living in a Mansion By the Sea, or a dirty brown flooded river, whichever the case may actually be.
The young buck’s name is Strunk.
Chuck Strunk, although he just prefers it if you simply call him Bond.
That’s because Chuckie – who may or may not be in love – has a sense of humour, unlike his namesake and fellow Labor Party hack Charlie the Boss’s Stooge, the setter-up of slush funds, basher of bedevilled Bolshevik child abuse victims, and brother-in-law of Del, the Queensland Minister for Kids who’s keeping them all safe by ignoring the blatant risks at Brisbane Grammar that even Stevie Wonder could see, after the pedo who tried to suck me off as a 14-year-old took the time-honoured gutless, guilty grub’s way out and topped himself when I decided that young tackers wellbeing was more important than my false pride, and told the world about the pervert’s pernicious crimes.
But this proper Charlie Chuck, who at 60 and a confirmed bachelor is in the absolute prime of his life, has a sense of humour. A self-deprecating one at that.
Just take a good look at the bloke.
He’s no oil painting is he? But that’s no crime, either am I, in fact pretty f*cking far from it as Mr Marcellus Wallace from Pulp Fiction would say.
Does it worry young old Chuck though?
Like f*ck it does. He’s decided to do what blokes with an active funny bone do and embrace that which he knows he can’t change, at least not without a hundred grand or so, Cher’s plastic surgeon, and Warnie’s botox brigade of blonde, horny honeys.
Now I dunno if Chuck’s got the hundred large in Steady Eddy’s, and I have no idea whether he knows Cher’s crew, but the one thing that I am absolutely, 100% certain of is that he doesn’t have Warnie’s blousey, bleached brigade on tap. So he’s obviously decided to say f*ck it, why worry about those things that you can’t change?
And good bloody on him I say, because at the end of the day, it’s just a bugs life anyway, innit?
Just quietly though, I hope it ain’t old ANT-hony Chisholm that our Charlie’s Angel’s talking about in his promo video below.
You just don’t want to go around upsetting old Zillmere Queens, for when faced with the cold, hard truth about Bugs, those wrong side of the trackers are wont to just break down and cry.
And there’s nothing worse than laughing at a blubbering blowhard pretender when you’re trying to win a bloody election.
Just ask Chuck’s old mate Jon Sullivan.