Twas the month before Christmas, and all through the house
Not a pollie was stirring, nor even a mouse.
The dirt files were stored in their cabinets with care
For use on the morrow, no pollie they’d spare.
Now the pollies are nestled all snug in their homes
With visions of sleaze, smut and slanderous tomes.
And the mamma of mischief, and I in my hood
Had set in our brains to be nasty, not good.
We had tried of our best, to give the redhead a batter
But nobody else, saw much in the matter.
So away from the chamber we flew like a flash
To plot and to plan and unearth more trash.
We’d tried stuff from Blewitt, and Slater and Gordon
Even got rumours from an old AWU cordon.
We tried to make things not as they appear
But the bloody populace just wouldn’t hear.
We’d pulled in the media, so lively and quick
But believing what we say just makes ‘em quite “thick”!
We gave them the info, and our trash file so dear
So that they could hype it and make voters know fear.
They did all the hype and the fluff in a thrice
And made the redhead not look at all nice
But just like us, it happened the same!
A right bloody cropper the silly buggers came!
“Now Hockey! now Abetz! now, Bernardi and Morrison!
Out of the trenches and over the wall
Now slag away! Slag away! Slag away all!”
And as dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
Off went all our heroes scooting away
They’ll not fight this lost cause and be made to pay!
Despite predilections they’d rather have proof
Than to go in and do scandal on a slanderous spoof.
‘Oh so sorry, but we haven’t the time!’
So it was left to mamma and the man in the hood
To carry the burden of not doing so good.
And what of the redhead they’d tried to debase
She just sat in her chair, a laugh on her face.
How her eyes twinkled, her dimples how cute!
Her cheeks were like roses, her eyes so astute
Her droll little mouth was drawn up in a grin
She’d sucked us, silly buggers, well and truly in!
We thought we had her, and that she’d pay
But she managed, with skill, to skate right away.
The morale of the story? ‘Don’t go down this track’
Unless there is hard proof to set at your back.
And so the year ends on a very sour note
When you look at what’s on offer and consider your vote.
You know just how warily you’ll have to tread
Unless you end up with a government you dread.
It’s all up to you, just remember the rules
That most politicians treat the voters as fools
So it’ll all come down to REAL policy intent
Not innuendo or smear from the politically bent.
So I’ll say ‘Hey de hey!’ and give a big whistle
As I rocket away like the down of a thistle
And you’ll hear me exclaim, as I vanish from sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
NB: Graphical Manipulations are for illustrative purposes only. Any resemblance between individuals mentioned in this poem and reality is entirely coincidental and the result of figments of wild imaginings arising from the consumption of too much Christmas cheer. You only have yourselves to blame! And, that’s on how much you imbibe and who you vote for!
And, with the usual ending to these graphical manipulations: “If there was ever an individual so totally undeserving of high office then that person is, unquestionably, Tony Abbott. We don’t need a negative, 19th century trogdolyte as Prime Minister of this country.” TA not fit 2 b PM!