Dear Miss April,
I was wondering if you could put your super sleuth skills or powers of divination to use. The Prime Minister seems to be missing.
Not that I want to find him, unless it was under Joe Hockey in a shallow/ not so shallow grave. [just kidding CIA guys].
What concerns me is that at a time like this that he couldnt crawl out from under his rock [aka Joe hockey] to say something , even something consoling or affirming , about the terrible plight of the people of the Phillipines after the “off the scale” typhoon.
I mean its in Asia [right?] and we rely on them terribly. So does the government.
The government relies on China buying Gina’s minerals. They really want Indonesia to hide the thing that shames Australians so. I dont mean refugees, no, I mean generousity or even that icky area, compassion. The country is awash with live livestock that need to be shipped off. Dont forget cheap holidays either.
After the beach bogans all spent a quid for the other less radio-active tsnumami, surely the head bogan could speak up on behalf of the holiday-ready masses and offer assistance to another nation girthed by surf beaches. The base and gritty commonality surely should get Tones into a speedo to announce that some peoples Xmas plans will be interupted by this awful natural disaster. By natural we obviously mean made by god [not science or global warming or brown coal or dredging the barrier reef to exploit toxic fracking income]. Lets get the public announcement back in public service.
Please, do you know where he is? I’m dying to hear what hes got to say.
Dear Con Stipation
I do beg your pardon, I’m rather harried you see. Since I received your correspondence I have been actively seeking our Prime Minister in every logical location with no success. I have returned to my secretaire to respond to you and confess my failings. Here I sit, my ankle boots soiled beyond repair, my petticoats disgracefully muddied, my hair has fallen and caught twigs in its slovenly web. I am a disorderly disgrace.
I started merrily enough, scoffing at your histrionics. I reached for the closest broadsheet smug in my knowledge that my fearless leader will be outspoken in his empathy and active aid, putting you naysayer to shame. He is a Christian after all. After much ruffling I felt a slight unease – where was his stoic face??
I wasted no time. I knew exactly what would drag him away from his glorious duties. I flew in a modern air bus to Warsaw. Rest assured Mr Stipation, my Tony knows the importance of representing our country on the world stage; especially when our neighbours need us so much. At one point I thought I saw him from behind – ‘my lord, my lord!’ I cried. I reached for him, his tightly wound up, fraught body only inches away. Quelle horreur! It was not the hero that has won the hearts of Australians. I found myself holding hands with an extraordinarily well recompensed chap sent here to do the good work of the new minority – vilified multinational fossil fuel corporations. God speed heroes. God speed.
Panic had started to set in by this stage. Good God, the thought of letting one of my readers down was too much for my poor shoulders to bear. I even went along to the Treasury Gardens the other morn, expecting my master of men to be there teaching those Greenies a thing or two, and explaining calmly the sound science of his advisor Andrew Bolt, so we can all stop worrying and start spending! Alas, Con, I was perplexed. Look, I don’t approve of hippies. What with their sensual drumming and middle-class fire-twirling. So I was shocked to find that all of these lefty-hippy types who are so rightly condemned within impartial Murdoch media networks looked altogether rather average. By golly, I think I saw Myrtle from church! There were twinsets (?!) ; quite a number of grey-haired retirees, and a large smattering of smartly dressed families. Their messages all seemed so sensible and necessary. This was becoming a true mystery.
I am not one to surrender Con Stipation. I march on! I decided to write to my good friend and neighbour President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono to enlist his assistance to track down Tony. Well, I never. When I finally received his return correspondence the profanity was so shocking I had to immediately reach for the Tip Ex to whitewash the offending words. What on earth has happened there! Our fine leader, the good, hard-working Tony, the man who can make a smile look like a murder attempt, is unpopular? It’s been less than 3 sodding months!
It is only just now, Con, that I have finally solved the mystery for you. He is cheating on us – with Gina. My favourite Maitre D’ discretely informed me of his current whereabouts. An exclusive rendezvous. Just friends. No ramifications, no consequences. Just lusty lipped kisses, bulging wallets and handshakes. Oh Con, I think I really got the wrong end of the stick with this lot. He’s missing you say? I only pray they all disappear, all that glitters is not gold Con Stipation, and knowing what’s on this menu we might need a bit more roughage before we can expel this lot out.
My dear Tony is absent, he leads me not.