abbott, aquis, archie, archie butterfly, asylum, audit, australia, billion, border, borobi, bribe, bribery, commission, commonwealth games, contract, corrupt, corruption, death, detention, evasion, fraud, fung, geebung, government, guard, hong kong, hui, island, jail, koala, kwok, manus, mayor, murder, nauru, prison, protection, rafael, raymond, raymond kwok, refugee, rsl, scandal, security, shelter, shk, stirling hinchcliffe, subcontract, sun hung kai, tax, thomas, thomas kwok, tony fung, transfield, virgin island, virgin islands, walter, wilson, wilson offshore, wilson security
Well f*ck me dead sportsfans.
How many times in one day can a bloke be burgled?
First the world media flog my Wilson Security story, then Bent Trent ‘Action Man’ Akers rips my Jim Rundle story off lock, stock and smoking barrel and claims it as an exclusive, and now Stirlo ‘the Property Developer’s Stooge’ Hinchliffe goes and steals my bloody Commonwealth Games mascot!
Dead set, as old Austen Tayshus once said (see I credit my sources) – It’s more than a Koala can bear!
Poor bloody Harry my lawyer. He’s already complaining about being overloaded. Now with all these breach of copyright suits he’s going to have to lodge the poor bastard will never get any sleep.
Oh well, at least he’ll be making plenty.
Here’s the story I published on the 15th of February last year declaring the Koala the Commonwealth Games mascot.
Gorgeous George, the Greek Goddesses, The Koala That Koalas and the Goldie Games Mascot – It’s All Sorted Stuey! – (Or the Day I Discovered Gorgeous George’s Inner Beauty) – First Published 15-02-2015
Well I was down at the Geebung RSL this arvo having a punt on the gee-gees. And the dishlickers, and the red hots, and the Lithuanian Division 2 hurling match between Bosko’s Bangers and Drago’s Ducks – cracker of a game it was too – and the Kiwi sheepdog trials in KamafukanKamafukanKamafukankameleon. It was dole day after all, and after a schooner or sixteen what’s a bloke supposed to do? Sit and play bloody Keno with the old boilers in the ladies lounge or somethin’?
Anyway, I’d backed the winner at the Sheepdogs – Ka Hunt was the canine’s name and the obvious omen tip, and it won by plenty after throwing a dummy and sending the pack down the road to the sh*thouse – and had just nabbed the trifecta on sixth race at Sale, and I was feeling pretty bloody good about myself. So bloody good in fact that I was standin’ on the beer-stained bar doing the vida loco and screaming my bloody head off. A 2 grand collect does that to you, particularly after you’ve just sculled 3 straight shots of Bundy and shouted the bar.
The beer bandits of the Bunga were screaming their heads off too. Who wouldn’t be after some mad bastard has bought ’em jugs till stumps, which was still 8 hours away. We were having a bloody riot of a time, and Kev behind the bar was too as I poured a schooner down his throat and said “buddy, I f*ckin luv ya”. I’ve always been a bit suss on Kev.
So I’m just about to pull a pineapple from my pocket to throw on Charlie the Boss’s Stooge in the last at the Ladies’ Amateurs, when all of a sudden the nags disappear from the screen and a breaking news bulletin appears. And blow me down with a feather and bugger me dead, there’s little Katie – the Jones of Arc of Jubilee Terrace, the eye candy of Enoggera, the Conqueror of Campbell – right there before our eyes on a dozen 80 inch screens.
Old Geoffrey the Geebung Groper goes for the zipper, as he’s been wont to do ever since old Col Bennett the bugle blower at Bunger Primary bunged him in the bumhole back in 1972, but we’re all awake to Geoffrey’s games and Macca, who ruck-roved for the U12’s in the glorious year that we knocked over Paddock Swamp for the State Title, laid him out flat before little Katie could open her gob, and before the Groper could pull out the tadpole and start pulling it on his pew.
Little Katie therefore had our absolute bloody undisturbed attention as she made the pronouncement we had so long waited to hear – the search for the 2018 Commonwealth Games mascot had begun!
The bar at the Bunger erupted upon hearing the news. The Lizard – little Larry Lovejoy, who’d lick anything that was blind drunk and held a pension card – put in the first bid.
“Fine Cotton” he declared, and his mate Sloppy Seconds Steve was quick to second the motion. Sloppy Steve is quick to second any bloody motion, even if it’s passed out on rum in the pokie room and 100 years old. But blokes who specialise in seconds never cum first, and when Pablo the Punter, a former SP who dodged the Fitzgerald Inquiry by camping in a concrete sewer under the Zillman Waterholes between ’87 and ’91 – I won’t tell you how he was able to sustain himself on meat pies and largies during his exile, because in Geebung we don’t give blokes up, especially ourselves – piped up and declared “Fine Cotton’s dead ya f*ckin fool!”, well that was the end of that.