A Conundrum of Compatibility.

The Working Class and;

A Conundrum of Compatibility.

We…of the working class, have a problem. That problem is : Servility.

No longer is it a “tugging of the forelock” servility, the elimination of THAT little obsequiousness   was “executed” in the French Revolution along with a generous helping of the useless aristocracy…and with us of Irish descent, with the hard-work of the IRA against the Black and Tans back last century! Even here in Australia at the Eureka Stockade, we gave , as Henry Lawson says ; the ruling class a black-eye and a bloodied nose.

But it was still our lack of education that held us back..our lack of “letters” that confined us to vocal protesting and physical action to advance the cause of working class rights and entitlements. And here, I would salute those militant unions who took the fight right up to the noses of the governing class…The AWU and the BLF “Green bans” in Sydney and Melb’…Norm Gallagher’s  BLF on the building sites around Aust’…now the CFMEU on the streets for all of us! Good work..DAMN GOOD WORK…and more power to them in the future.

But now, in this twenty first century, when more of us than ever have a good sketch of education and we “knows our letters” enough to write down and communicate to a wider audience the need for universal democracy for this multi-cultural society…a society needing for the majority ; good health policies, secure employment policies through State infrastructure developments, decent wages for family security, education and many , many other causes.

We working people have the capacity to write from direct experience of these things now with the expansion of social media and the availability of free content blog sites. These multi-media outlets have exploded the “voice” of every-person to deliver to a watching population the instances of oppression and injustice instantly…and also to deliver the good oil on worthy projects direct to the public without the news being wrung through the filter of a biased, unworthy main-stream media, whose reason for existence is now more to betray, block and obfuscate than deliver news to the public.

But along with this ease of access to communicate, has come another tyrant to try to stand-over , humiliate, correct and control those from a working class education who have important things to say. It is the oppression of “correct communication”. It is another mechanism of the controlling middle-class to suppress this rising enthusiasm of the educated working class from fully exploiting their potential to create an atmosphere of radical politics and radical ideas.

I can speak from my own experience here as I have been a contributor of articles to blog-sites for quite a few years, writing from a left-wing perspective (as ANY self-respecting worker would have to!) and delivering on the subjects concerning social improvement for the nation as a whole..This would go well, I noticed, until I broached the subject of class-warfare between the working class and a controlling middle class. It was this barricade that brought me undone with many on those blog-sites as I was informed that many there were of the middle class and seemed to see themselves as a kind of “gate-keeper” of their middle class values. I was excoriated by a coterie of private school graduates who see ones like myself as an interloper into the exclusive world of correct grammar, syntax and polite conversation…”sure, you can protest..but on our terms!”…I, and my building site aged male attitude didn’t fit..there were times when my commentary would be met with deafening silence and totally ignored..one could almost “hear” the sharp offended intake of breath..such are the basic tools of the offended sensibilities of the “Noel Coward set”, where good manners and knowing one’s place is an imperative to polite society…doncha know?

What, however was more alarming and the reason for the writing of this piece, was the buckling and caving-in of some of the other working class bloggers of those sites. A kind of subservience to what has been created in the world of the written language as the “strata of grammatical purity”…a subtle tyranny set in place by those of the well-educated middle class to keep out the barbarian horde of loud , vulgar front-bar types whose language is more akin to a shout in the street than gentle whispers in the parlour..A nasty piece of useless baggage from an anachronistic era when “polite society” knew everything about good writing and fuck all about good communication! When the job of written communication was more about NOT telling the dirty little secrets of the ruling class.

All this exclusiveness has now gone by the wayside..with the changing script-face of post-modern writing, a more generic style of writing has become the norm..grammatical correctness has to take second place to emojis and abbreviated words…technology and word-limit demands swift response and the increasing habit of texting on the run has brought new language to the fore. No longer must a person who has struggled with the curse of a low-level education wait cap-in-hand for the master of English Grammar to judge or correct their work with either a patronising compliment, like a gold star from the teacher, of wither under the disdainful glare of disapproval..Now, thanks to the great equaliser, those of us who relish more the substance of a political piece than the syntax can just tell those pompous, self-righteous scribblers to fuck off!

So having levelled the playing-field for legitimate commentary, we of the working class must now decide if we wish to be on the same team as those who have gamed our camaraderie just to “lord it” over us. There is now that ; “Conundrum of Compatibility”..will we get on together as equals, or do we of the working class just tell the middle class to piss off and go do your own dirty-work? For myself, I don’t need the bums..they have nothing to offer or help me with…I don’t appreciate their smug delusions of grandeur nor their lazy mental attitude. But I have to concede there is the need for networking, and THAT is the one thing the middle class has a lot of experience in…and their mostly idle unskilled-hands are good for picking up a phone and connecting A to B.

So I would like to see the Labour movement along with the unions and the political arm of the Left  bring more rank and file workers to the political fore and utilise the “in-situ” experience of long-term skilled people to create a new, more structurally sound body of political grunt to confront and defeat the filth from the Right wing .

The reserves of power and enthusiasm in the over-shadowed educated working class must now be utilised and promoted to the highest levels of political office. What some would see as the “vulgar” or “crude” mechanism of leverage of power has to be reconsidered in the light of what we see now in this current government; a politburo of poisonous, poltroons with not the slightest trace of decency and honour for all their years of private, expensive schooling and the best suits and bling OUR expense accounts can buy. We are looking at filth of the lowest order and if these criothans can lay claim to the highest standards of rhetoric and education, then I say ;

FUCK THE BULLSHIT…give the workers the power, we’ll straighten them out !





The Right to an Honourable Life.

Do not think for a moment that this article is a promo’ for The Smith Family Charity or any charity in particular.. not that I have anything against that or any other charity organisation..but I am using their video clip as example to vent my disgust and anger at what I see as gross failure of the govt’ of the day ; The LNP, to give decent and proper support as is the right of EVERY child or citizen of this State of Australia to a decent and respectful chance of full education for every child or citizen that comes under its duty of care.


(I take the liberty and I am trusting the permission of The Smith Family Charity to paste this sample “you tube” clip here).

To view this sad spectacle of a child, ANY child in Australia today and hear a charity plead for assistance to sponsor an Australian child because of distressing circumstances is to me an indictment of gross delinquency and abandonment of the basic principles of good governance of the nation. For surely the first principle for governance is to give shelter, security and education to all its citizens…in particular the children, as this secures the knowledgeable future of the nation..and yet we see the clip above of such a child representation, certainly from a state school (no way private!) being placed in an insecure personal situation that would easily brand her as a future client of more gross victimisation.

Yet we can hear this vandalism of a LNP govt’ promote the benefits of “aspirational goals” and they pour seemingly unlimited wealth and investment into the private college / school network, taking such badly-needed funding for such “fattening” from the already hollowed-out and stretched financially state school network!..then abandoning the Gonski schooling proposal through lack of funding to increase the already “double-stitching” on the old-school-tie jackets and table napkins…a deliberate slap in the face for the already “leaners” and a fattened Judas Purse for the so-called “lifters”.

And then we have to suffer the added insult of listening to those pompous arseholes like Minister Pyne , poncing about promoting himself with his mincing poodle voice, or Minister Cash apologising for “forgetting” to register her FOURTH $1 point something million dollar investment property..or even Mr Harbourside Mansion himself pontificating on the merits of having wealthy parents and you then see this advertisement above calling for support for disadvantaged AUSSIE kids!..??…WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON??

I’ll tell you what is going on..: Class-warfare..THAT’s what’s going on!..that child in the Smith Family plead is from the working class, in a state school..THAT is the inference, no doubt about it, and THAT is who it is aimed at…this child is a representation of a random working class child in a random state school. So if you are looking for proof of the “killing fields” of class-warfare in our country today, you just go to the statistics of privilege / want…you will find the “privilege” side of the scales heavily weighted with this current government’s funding..you will see the working class denied the basic rights of work security through the abandoning of manufacturing industries and local state industries by this govt’, you will see the abandonment of health , education and social security by this govt’ toward the working classes…you will see reward after reward of more grants and then tax and wage reductions for their electoral interest business friends..you will see the obvious intended abandonment of Gonski, of the NDIS..of renewable energy policies all of which would ensure more employment opportunities and required decency for the working people of the nation.

Instead, we get a steady stream of bullshit slurry trickling out in an almost unstoppable stream from the mouths of these LNP delinquents, bracketed and enlarged upon with a equal steady stream of abuse and vitriol from the Murdoch traitor journalists. This is NOT a government, this is an act of vandalism and “murder” against the working people of this nation..for when one has to witness a charity organisation go pleading for sponsorship for working-class kids so they can have a half decent life, coupled with a deserved, decent education and a chance of a honourable future in this most favourable country on Earth, you just know some-one, somewhere is not doing their duty. That “some-one” IS whoever is first and foremost responsible for “duty of care” to the citizens of the State..: The Government of the day.

The government of this day is the LNP…they are to be condemned as vandals, delinquents and fit for nothing but the trash-bin of history. They have just relegated such in West Australia to that rubbish-bin, let us maintain our rage and disgust of these low-life filth to do the same , with extreme prejudice , to this LNP govt’ at the next federal election!


Mrs. Fookes and The Marino Fish Shop.

Image result for Fish and chips in a paper wrapper pics.

Let me tell you the story of another fish and chip shop owner. A woman too..not arrogant, nor opinionated or accusative…Oh, she was not a quiet retiring type. She had the voice and stride like a sergeant major..she would call for her child and he would hear her loud and clear half a mile away!…and woe betide him if he didn’t heed her call.

But she ran the Marino fish shop..a shop built by her fisherman husband at the high spot of the carpark that led to the rocky beach there at Marino Rocks..the beach of our neighbourhood..the gathering place of a mix of many nations , ages, young folk of both genders..young teens of the boomer generation who framed a collective there of social sharing and support that relied upon Mrs. Fookes’s  generosity as the backbone of our little collective…she was a saint, even if she didn’t realise it.

Marino Rocks was the end of the railway-line stop, with it’s inhabitants of Dutch, Latvian, Scottish, German, Irish and some of dubious parentage altogether!…but they became ‘fellow travelers’ in that poverty enriched neighbourhood  in the foothills on the edge of  the sea.

By a coincidental twist of fate, while the adults, survivors of a world war, in some cases two wars, an economic depression that impoverished so many, were a motley collection of spiritually broken , in many cases physically broken individuals, who were subjected to the corrupting influence of conservative thinking and propaganda that drove a wedge of fear into their susceptible hearts, their “multi-mix” children, with an improved diet of high protein, clean water, fresh air and unsupervised, unregulated freedom on the wide beaches of  the gulf, grew into wild free-spirited youths, who found rebellion against the restraints of conservative lifestyle as easy as diving off “Sharkey rock” into a crystal- clear , cool ocean. The young men and women that grew from such a healthy outdoors environment, grew bodies that glowed with a shimmering water-silvered endowment that drew the jealousy of the gods! The sea –water that ran from their bodies when re-alighting onto ‘Sharkey rock’ after a dive revealed all the beauty that nature could encompass in desire and comeliness in a youthful human form…their hungry eyes rejoiced in each other with a pagan worship of mother nature’s creation.

Having no money and no capacity to travel far, all the children congregated in a tribal-like conglomerate on the beaches . There was nothing in the stultifying doctrine of Catholicism or the Protestant work ethic that could not be laughed off under the pagan influence of sun , sea and surf and the merciful salvation of Fookes’s Fish and Chip Shop.

Ahh!..Mrs. Fookes..never did she know how much she helped create a revolution in her own small way, by her unconnected generosity to the local kids. From behind the counter of that unique fish and chippery, she contributed to the making of “baby-boomer” revolutionaries. She may have had a stride like a parade-ground Sergeant Major, and a voice to match..but her heart was of pure gold. She wasn’t like “Aunt Mary”, the railway porter on the train station who would line the kids up and threaten any delinquents that she would cut their heads off and put a cabbage in it’s place if’n she had any more cheek!

Mrs. Fookes saw how so many were scrawny kids hungry for a decent bit of daytime tucker, scrounging around for empty cool-drink bottles to cash in for a bob’s worth of chips..one of the kids would go inside with a few bottles at threepence each return deposit and Mrs Fookes would dish out more than a shillings chips and sometimes throw in a piece of fish that “was just laying around waiting for a mouth to eat “…and there’s a couple extra chips or a “ potato pattie for your little plump friend there at the door…he looks hungrier than the rest of you!” and the booty was all shared around amongst many..right down to greasy fingers dabbing up even the last salt grains..’all for one, one for all’…till she worked out a way to legitimise her care by pointing one day to some large empty glass jars in an alcove by the counter..”Listen you kids” she said in her commanding voice, “I want some interesting shells and things to make a sea-side display for the customers to look at while they wait..if you bring me something interesting or curious from the sea, I will give you some fish and chips in return…but it’s gotta be interesting, mind!” and she wagged a finger in warning to not try any silly buggers with her..and she meant it!..and she stuck to her word…The kids would bring their little treasures from Neptunes hoard and she’d exchange for tucker…strange coloured and shaped shells, dug out from their wedge in the rocks…the dried, hollowed out husks of exquisite sea-horses and the like…little treasures given up by the sea..they brought them to Mrs. Fookes like Fagan’s pickpockets seeking reward for their efforts! Did anyone then realise what this meant, this system of barter ?..It meant freedom!..liberated from going home during the day for food..No longer under the parents watchful eyes the children were free to create their own sea-side society from morning to late afternoon,without oversight or consultation with adults!..God bless Mrs. Fookes!..and may a warm fire be forever burning in her hearth and warm slippers handy on a cold night…God bless her.

Mind you, she had to have a pretty tough hide to handle her fisherman husband ; Edgar Gordon Fookes…a stone-cutter by trade, fisherman by choice and garrulous old bastard by nature. Edgar and his sons had a fishers camp on the Yorke Peninsula, where they would set out to their secret fishing grounds and catch choice fish to clean and put on ice which Edgar would deliver straight back to the shop..never were fresher fish, more delicious fish and chips served to a long queue of faithful customers..five or more deep at the counter till a ticketing system had to be introduced.

Edgar would deliver his catch and then lean against the end of the counter smoking his big, fat meerschaum pipe and observing what he called ‘the idle rich” customers coming and going. He was a garrulous old bloke and the kids held their distance when he was around, saving their moments to barter with the kindly Mrs. Fookes when he was away.

Edgar Fookes wasn’t one to be messed around with..story goes that once, in the Fish-market auctions, the independent fishermen were sick and tired of the auctioneer placing their catches down the sale list, even though they could very often be the first there with their lot, just to satisfy and be rewarded by the big corporate fishing companies..one day Edgar challenged the auctioneer on this unfair matter…the auctioneer told him to shut it or else he’ll be last on the list!…Where upon Edgar snatched up a gummy-shark, swung it a couple of times around his head an whalloped the auctioneer off the dias and proceeded to do his own mock auction in place!

One day , on a quiet afternoon, Edgar was “resting” on his arm at the end of the counter watching a matronly looking lady in heavy fur coat  peruse with concerned expression and a pair of  prinz nez opera glasses the trays of select fish in the display fridge…after several sweeps in this manner, Edgar could be observed huffing and puffing in an agitated way on his pipe..Edgar prided himself on the freshness and quality of his catch..Finally, the matron straightened up and dropping her glasses to her bosom, addressed Mrs. Fookes behind the counter.

“ Madam, “ she spoke in a ‘Toorak Gardens’ dialect ,“Are these fish frrrrresh?”.

This was too much for Edgar to take lying down! He swiftly sidled up to the lady and taking his pipe with a sudden but measured movement from his mouth , he looked her square in the eye and informed her in a mocking emulation of the lady’s own accent;

“Madam!…if they were any frrrrresher…they’d be indecent!” and he turned abruptly away to resume his place at the end of the counter..huffing and puffing at his pipe.

Now THAT is how decent folk run a fish and chippery.

Was Ever a Fairer Meadow…

Was ever a fairer meadow than the open fields of Australia befouled and betrayed by such cross-bred swine like these beasts of gross repute as the conservative politicians? Was ever sweeter grass and clearer stream more befouled by the clumsy stampeding hoof of such swine? Was ever more damage done to field and stream by their sleek, fattened flesh crashing through hedge and shrub, trampling down spider orchid and clover, their huffing snouts nuzzling greedily into the good, rich earth seeking truffle-like under turf and flowers the riches to gorge their insatiable appetite of greed and avarice till the very ground beneath our feet is turned into a blackened swill of slurry and excrement by their loathsome waste and drooling, each successive discovery of further wealth of fattening reward a spurring-on for their fellows to dig more deeply, sniff out more urgently and crush more completely the very soil they rely upon for their sustainability? Such is the nature of The LNP way of politics.

And the IPA “shepherds” of this porcine herd?..what are they but amateur game-keepers placed in charge of an unruly flock with little or no experience of just how to direct ANY stock under their control, the “crook” no longer a descriptive word for a hooked staff to assist his work, but rather a title and accusation of philosophical direction!..Shepherds of such junior experience that their words more resemble childish verse from school-yard fairy-tale and nursery rhyme than studied application or learned experience. Their “learned oracles” a coterie of fools and wannabe philosophers from an age of too many snake-oil salesmen, too many lesser intellectuals scrambling for to feast off the post Victorian era table of speculative philosophy, their scribblings little more than vague wishings for either fantasy or the impossible…seeking to go down a “road less traveled”, believing there lies a Leprechaun’s treasure waiting for their coming…The Hayeks, the  Friedmans, the Rands..the post war post-modernists who embraced a fraudulent will-o-the-wisp and played host to its vapour-like fantasy pretending that it was of their own design..an empty vessel carping and crowing with empty promises..for there are reasons why some roads are less traveled, and that is because they  mostly lead to a dead end….such an end of “free market” speculation we have now reached, the economic rationalism of poverty…so that those child-like eyes must sometime be adult-opened and the realisation that while their IPA. skin may have a white-washed, well combed appearance, it hides a soul and heart as dark, dirty, corrupt and vile as the most hardened villain in any Joseph Conrad novel.

The crack of the whip falls regularly on the backs of these stumbling shepherds, as their absentee landlord and overseer of the herds and pastures directs his hirelings to apply his commands from his base in another country. Just like a Cromwellian baron on his Irish estates, does this malfeasance, more  hungry for young-woman flesh than the most theatrical Dracula, holler his orders from an ivory tower of protected privilege and prestige above both his station and his low moral base. The foundations of which reach down to the depths of Sheol and by-pass the lowest level of Dante’s inferno. His aged body a disease of corruption swelling over any girdle or belt of containment until it’s unbridled wash hangs tripe-like from unclean cloth like the spilled intestines of an old, gutted animal. This apology of a human controls and directs his creatures with a grip as firm and as loathsome as a loan-shark’s, and with almost as much integrity.. They do his bidding with too willing pleasure just to see those they torment writhe in agony and terror…one can almost see their eyes light-up with un-supressed glee when a struck blow hits home and their victim falls innocent at their feet..There can be nothing lower in ethics or morality than those who are more willing to enact a master’s cruelty for the reward of a few shillings than to think of their own…none more deserving of hard justice than those more willing to cut cruel on the backs of their own people to satisfy the lust for power of a foreign master…Well could the Irish claim that amongst one’s own people, a traitor is the easiest of person to find…for even amongst the twelve Apostles, was there not within their own breast the worst of the worst?..So heed not when the time comes for a sympathetic eulogy for that foreign media mogul whose only record in history will be as a villain..as a eulogy; weep not for him , but rather for those he broke and debased and destroyed…Call no lament, except to those who were too weak-hearted in their positions of power to drag him down before he destroyed the nation..and pray no prayers but for those who died as victims of his and his creatures propagandised wars, famines, diseases and poverty..Murdoch is a name most unworthy of even faint remembrance.


Was ever a fairer meadow or field than Australia torn asunder by insatiable greed and cruelty?

“So we must fly a rebel flag,
As others did before us,
And we must sing a rebel song
And join in rebel chorus.
We’ll make the tyrants feel the sting
O’ those that they would throttle;
They needn’t say the fault is ours,
If blood should stain the wattle.”

(Freedom on the Wallaby.. sec’)

Henry Lawson.
Brisbane, May, 1891.

The Rose and The Plough.

Image result for Pic of rose-bush under a window.


In the back-blocks of the mallee

‘Neath Mrs. MacFarlane’s sill,

Grew a rose bush many years ago,

(I ponder it’s there still?).


“ ‘Twas planted for my Louise

When she was newly born.

I mark the contrast of the rose:

The blossom above the thorn!”


MacFarlane ploughed the dry soil of that block

With machines tended of sweat and tears.

While Louise blossomed with the rose

All through her growing years.


But age slowly wearied him,

The years of labour took their toll.

So young Tim Brey that season worked the plough

And a bumper crop did sow.


Creeping fingers of evening shadow

Edged ’round mallee scrub and tree,

As Tim drove through the station gate

And Louise, he did suddenly “see”.


One warm evening ‘neath a mallee tree,

With the harvesting finally done,

The “old man” grumbled toward the house

While Tim and Louise talked on alone.


A silence fell after all was talked about

With dusk thru’ dust aglow.

Tim clasped the bough above her head

And leant toward his “rose”…


…The wind would move the fields of grain,

A swollen swirling “sea”:

Of “ebb and flow” in the crops

On the Breys’ new property…


Themselves now grown so old,

Their children too have flown.

But still the rose bush given

For their wedding blossoms on.


The mallee is not so prosperous,

The price has gone from wheat.

The farm is dusty, the house too old;

Deep lines fan Louise’s cheek.


Tim Brey harrows still with his plough

The “home paddock” into rows,

While Louise battles with their accounts,

As dust silently falls-on the petals-of the rose.

Animal Cruelty and Right-Wing Politics.

Raskolnikov’s dream ( from Crime and Punishment) ;

“…She’ll fall in a minute, mates, there will soon be an end of her,” said an admiring spectator in the crowd.

“Fetch an axe to her! Finish her off,” shouted a third.

“I’ll show you! Stand off,” Mikolka screamed frantically; he threw down the shaft, stooped down in the cart and picked up an iron crowbar. “Look out,” he shouted, and with all his might he dealt a stunning blow at the poor mare. The blow fell; the mare staggered, sank back, tried to pull, but the bar fell again with a swinging blow on her back and she fell on the ground like a log.

“Finish her off,” shouted Mikolka and he leapt beside himself, out of the cart. Several young men, also flushed with drink, seized anything they could come across—whips, sticks, poles, and ran to the dying mare. Mikolka stood on one side and began dealing random blows with the crowbar. The mare stretched out her head, drew a long breath and died.

“You butchered her,” someone shouted in the crowd.

“Why wouldn’t she gallop then?”

“My property..my property!” shouted Mikolka, with bloodshot eyes, brandishing the bar in his hands. He stood as though regretting that he had nothing more to beat.”  (Dostoevsky : “Crime and Punishment” )

It is acknowledged that a person’s character can be judged from the way they treat any pet or animals under their charge..what we witnessed back in the last couple of years with live-animal exports has to be equal or worse than that described in Dostoevsky above. Those helpless animals beaten to death in those most gross slaughter houses were victims of a knowing and uncaring corporate marketing group. A group closely associated with the current ruling govt’ of the LNP. When the Labor govt’ of the time placed a halt to export proceedings until a more rigorous and humane treatment regiem was put in place, the LNP, prompted by it’s most vocal vested interest constituents cried “foul”…their concern was not for the well-being of the beasts, but outraged that this could be an attack on their hip-pocket well-being.

That gross frenzy of the drunken Mikolka killing the horse because it could not pull the wagon full of his drunken companions, just about perfectly describes the attitude (as it was meant to!) of a “right to rule” attitude by the Right-Wing of the LNP. More concerned in looking to the cut of their fashionable clothing or the glitter of the bling on their jackets. The blind unconcern toward those in their charge who are vulnerable or weak, is seen by the right as a position of strength toward that which they view as “waste material”, “cannon-fodder” in a “Free-market” economy.

It could only be the LNP. who would divide the citizens of this nation into “lifters and leaners”…and could only be spoken by those who had, in reality, NEVER done a stick of continuity of labouring work in their whole life!…their main source of income coming from either speculation bequeathed from wealthy parents or from a privileged background well-networked in an elitist social environment, with good credit and good employment contacts at hand.

This vulgar presumption of “ownership” of economic control, infrastructure preferences and / or military adventures operated in the shadow of their aggressive foreign masters is both an insult and a betrayal of the national interest to A) their own self-aggrandisement, or B) The enrichment of corporate supporters who , they trust, will return the favour post politics with a lucrative if worthless appointment to a board or two.

There is more than a blush of cowardice in the actions of both the above “Mikolka” and the members of the LNP…Gross cowardice in the drunken Mikolka brutally striking the tethered horse and in the LNP hitting out at the lowest paid workers and pensioners and the vulnerable, knowing they have these citizens “tethered” to their situations and held in check by a accusative Main-Stream Media always at the ready to bark like the good dogs they are at any moving shadow that frightens their foreign masters, like the hapless questioner on Q&A. or the recent persons who queried the legitimacy of Centerlink charges. So there is a triple cowardice..; Picking on the vulnerable, keeping those same well-indebted to their economic situation and utilizing their “pimps”; the MSM to brow-beat any protesters while the LNP give those same “injured parties” a good , sound kicking while they are down!

And we cannot overlook the role of position of the authority that commands and permits these actions to take place in his name. For if and when one assumes command, AYE!..even fights and schemes and claws their way to that position, they must take responsibility for those cowardly actions that came with the territory. And no matter the cut of the cloth they wear, no matter the volume of currency in their pocket, it is the calibre of honesty and decency in the personality that will be measured against the stature of the person in command…and at the moment, this person in charge of these groveling criothans that slip and slope about under the shadowy name of LNP, has to be considered the equivalent of the stature of a leprechaun, with a shadow cast of equal minuscule measure..