Julia and the Image Consultant

In an exclusive to this blog, we take you live into the image consultants boudoir, where Prime Minister Gillard is given image and grooming advice.

Image consultant: Now Julia, I really like the white lady funeral look, but we need more pearls,

Julia: Why?

Consultant: Well we need to make you into Mrs North Shore.

Julia: But they’re all safe liberal seats. I mean Maxine can outpearl me any day but she’s no match for a liberal tennis player.

Consultant: But we want you to look a little less boganette. And that means one thing: less bling.

Julia: So less bling, more string. I think I can manage that.

Consultant: Good. Now, let’s accessorise those steely Machiavellian eyes.

Julia: Steady. Just because I happen to have excellent knife skills is no reason to be rude.

Consultant: Hold on darls, we’ll talk combat weaponry in a minny. But let’s get some accessories going to represent the glorious country we have in some of marginal seats.

Julia: I just need a few things to go with my White Lady Pantsuits.

Consultant: Darls, we can do better. I’m thinking croc handbag from Bob Katter’s croc farm.

Julia: He has a croc farm?

Consultant: Why do you think he needs all those bananas? And Tony Windsor, Tamworth. I thinking country musak, perhaps a guitar, display your country cred.

Julia: I don’t have any country cred. I’m from Altona. I’m not lugging a guitar around.

Consultant: It’s just a light one, you won’t notice it after a while. And as for Port Macquarie, well it’s a shame, between you and me, Jules that you can’t just carry around that yummy Mr Oakeshott. I mean, does he work out or what?

Julia: That would be stalking. Besides he’s married.

Consultant: Well, I’m thinking given he’s a surfy kayaker, connected to the water and all that, blonde streaks, a dab of fake tan.

Julia: But I’m peaches and cream.

Consultant: Darls, peaches and scream more like it. No, it would be tasteful. Just a seachange shade of something a little beachfrontage. You’ll love it, truly. Hand me that spraycan darls. Besides that nice Tony Abbott is a bit of a surfy dude isn’t he. If you can’t get Oakeshott, you’ll be in with a chance with him.

Julia: (to herself) where’s my nail file. A well-aimed blow to the temples should do it.

Bob Katter’s thought bubble on stable government

Dear Jules,

Mate, I know I supported the other team, but I can change sides. But I can assure you I have the nation’s interests at heart, so here are a few thoughts on what you can do for Far North Queensland.

Some of these ideas are top secret, so keep them under your hat. I know I did. Don’t share them with that Bob Brown, I know he fancies me and I want to make it quite clear it can never happen. At least not in my electorate. So, here they are:

• Since we’re on the subject of Bob Brown, I’m not happy what Coles and Woolworths have on the shelves. I walked down the aisle of Cloncurry Woolworths and what did I see but chickpeas and chai tea. I mean, come on, what do they think Far North Queensland is – Woodstock. Can you smash Coles and Woolworths, send them to hell and then get them to take this hippy shit off the shelves by the weekend.
• Climate change – the only climate that is changing is the dual control in the front seat of my 4wd hummer I use for bilbi shooting expeditions. Tony Abbott quoted me correctly when he said climate change is crap, but I go further. It’s absolute crap. Don’t let those goons in the Greens convince you otherwise. Bob Brown is gay.
• I’ve noticed Jules that you do like your pantsuit.  Now I don’t normally comment on a sheila’s outfit, but the pantsuit is a step too far. The top dog – now don’ take this the wrong way – should be wearing something you could walk down the main street of Cloncurry in, a fetching camo twin set perhaps?
• Which brings me to bananas. Now this is serious. I get around four phone calls a week from distressed bananas, bananacide is rampant throughout FNQ and no government has ever done anything. It’s about survival of the banana. I mean we’re the ones who have to end up eating em. Please explain.

So Jules, these are my ideas for a stable government. Let’s meet next week and discuss. I’ll bring the banana cake. I’ve been trying a few different icing recipes, I think the lemon rind works a treat.  Don’t invite Bob Brown.

Yours faithfully,

Bobkat  B.O (Bachelor of Oneology); M.U.T. FNQ (Member of University of Technology FNQ)

From the negotiation room

We take you behind the scenes in the negotiation stage with the three independents:

Julia: Welcome fine country gentlemen. Can I get you a cup of tea?

Katter: Yes thanks luv. But no NBN

Julia: But I thought you wanted an NBN?

Katter: No bloody nutrisweet. Queensland sugar for me. That’s what’s wrong with you Coles Woolworths dictatorship, it leaves out Queensland sugar, I can assure you. I mean let’s talk about farmers going to the wall, every week I get a call from …

Julia: Oh, Bob, I’ll come to you very soon.  I just want to offer Tony and Rob something to drink too.

Tony: Cup of tea thanks Julia.

Julia: And a few Northern Tablelands scones.

Tony: Thanks Julia.

Rob: And can I have a cup of coffee made by our own regional coffee plantation in Port Macquarie. Oh gees, it would be good if they could expand.

Julia: Of course Rob, and I know you’re a bit of a kayaker. Boy do I have a deal for you. What about we form a kayak circle of trust around Australia to symbolise our new collegial parliamentary love in. It’d be great, of course we’d need to build an entirely new kayak industry in say, oh I dunno, Port Macquarie industrial area?

Rob: Sweet. Say Julia this regional coffee tastes fantastic, you do a good brew.

Tony: Brew ha ha. What about me?

Katter: Another lump of  Queensland sugar thanks luv, now Jules, let’s talk food security. I want a slice of pineappple upside down cake, a couple of lamos, I’ll pinch one of Tony’s scones. No, no, hear me out, I’ve had plenty of my stuff pinched I can tell you and some of that chocolate macademia nut cake stuff too.

Julia: Of course, Bobkat no problem.

Katter: Core, this chocolate stuff’s pretty good

Julia: It was cooked by the Greens for our agreement after party, cooked with love as they say.

Katter: What’s that luv?

Tony: Enough about Bob. I’ve got a big hat too, I just don’t show off about it all the time. What about me?  Where’s my pork barrell?

Julia: Aw don’t be like that Tony, if I was really pork barrelling I’d give you Tasmania.

Katter: Ok, can I have that too? Flo, bride of Joh, is down there, need to shore up my pumpkin scone food security.

Movies with no ending

movies with no ending

What is it about movies with no endings? I’m realy sick of investing 2 hours and $10 of my life getting emotionally invested, go through the whole illness, divorce, tough college years, brush with the mob, court case, pregnancy scare, car chase through Athens and nuclear terrorist threat only to have some half-arsed ending, where you’re not really sure what happened.

Like many people, I thought this was a trendy new cinematic device, meant to signify the ambiguity of the character’s angst continuum.  Actually I think it’s because they’ve run out of money to pay the scriptwriters for the final scene, so they thought, what the hell we’ll just do a fade out to confusing music, but actually it seems this wishy washy non-ending ending has been around for yonks. On the weekend I saw Three Days of the Condor, and even Robert Redford in 70’s bodyshirt in his prime, couldn’t take away that horrible feeling that tastes like No Ending.

I for one am sick of it. If there is no ending – tell us at the beginning. Or have a rating system. Like there is for PG, MA have NEWT – No Ending Was Told or F.O. Finale Off.

Time is precious, and stories are there for telling, not weaselling out of and saying it’s for the audience for decide. No, it’s not. That’s called theatre sports where the audience decides.

Before I spend my $7 I want an ending baby.

St Paula’s letter to the electorate – post election issue

And so it came to pass that the day of reckoning did beckon.

Barbecues of burnt offerings lit the land and smoke signals did let the people know it’s time.

But the people could not agree on who should run the tabernacle.

When the counting began Red Kerry of 7.30Reportland did look amazed. No-one had the Book of Numbers 76 Chapter and Verse. The tabernacle was split exactly in two.

These were strange days indeed. The Book of Titus went to Anthony of Waringah. He also took the Ephesians and Amos by storm but the prized Book of Corinthians and Jude and most of Ruth stayed with Julia. Steve Fielding was Exodus and Maxine of Bennelong had Lamentations and thank God it looked like Wilson Tuckey was out of Job too.

Even the Australian Sex Party, jezebels all, could not a candidate erect. But the man whose name was Brown but was Green did have a foot in both camps and celebrate much.

Yet from the north came a miracle man with a giant turban and a whip he was not afraid to use, called Katter; who did spake of bananas and a great inland sea and was more than likely mad. And floating in from the east came a man called Windsor who did speak in measured tones and a man called Oakeshott who was tall and not a bad sort and seemed way too normal to want to hang out in the tabernacle.

And yea, although Anthony of Waringah did strut the stage in a pair of tiny tiny smugglers, the scribes shaked their heads, for he had not the Numbers.

And Julia of Altona’s tribes did wail and weep. Bitar of the campaign office did speak of betrayal and deception, which loosely translated into Aramaic means Kevin Rudd. Though KRudd of Nambour did have a swing to him a matter of great self-congratulation and much twittering from his place of exile.

The men named Katter, Oakeshott and Windsor from the distant kingdoms did issue their ten commandments. Julia of Altona did worship at the feet of the three wise men and seek their blessing. Anthony of Waringah speak of loving kindness, before he reverted to type and did deny them three times before he said um, ah, err and let them see his figures.

The people of the great desert land saw that spring had come and flowers did bloom. Winter was nearly over and they could struggle into their own smugglers soon enough.

Perhaps a new dawn did approach.Or perhaps there would be another election. They held up their hands to God – fair shake of the sauce bottle, hadn’t they been punished enough?

So here’s what’ll happen if there’s an election

• Bob Katter to guest edit the Woman’s Weekly • Major amounts of pork barrelling at the Big Banana to appease oakeshott and Katter • Oakeshott in speedos for the female vote • Tony Abbott – will unleash the new Tony kinder gentler for the same length of time it takes him to boot up his wordstar 1000 computer • The destructive faceless men of the labour party will be busted as revealed as Nick Minchin and Kevin Andrews • Julia Gillard releases new slogan – Just Clinging On • New rail link announced between Rooty Hill RSL and Altona

St Paula’s Letter to the Electorate

And so it came to pass that Julia soon after her assumption was queen of the land. Though there were some among them who mourned Kevin of Nambour and felt him greatly wronged, Julia wooed those from far and wide. Her hair they marvelled is the colour of the fire in its embers, her eyes like emeralds. She wore virginal white and sprinkled rose petals named hard-working Australians and Moving Forward wherever she went.

Antony of Waringah did squirm in his smugglers of many colours. Many scribes throughout the land did think the smugglers too tight. Then came the moment of great reckoning. A contest was held between Julia of Altona and Anthony of Waringah, for that is the tradition of our people. It is also the tradition of our people to hold a great feast, and many great platters of watermelon done three ways and pan seared confit of pork belly with truffle oil foam were prepared afterwards.

 Many of the people were preparing for the feast so they missed the great contest. But the scribes ascribed a nil all draw. Anthony of Waringah was fair relieved for his smugglers were way too tight that evening.

 And it came to pass that the time of great rejoicing on the assumption of Julia of Altona came to an end. Julia did speak of carbons that did emit and of a great people’s assembley of hard-working Australians moving forward to place a price upon the carbon’s head. But the people were tired after the great feast and they did not wish it so. This marked the beginning of the great downfall. Those formerly known as Green moved back to the leader called Brown to their tents in the valley shaking their heads and gnashing their teeth and speaking of their camomile gardens.

By darkness terrible news about Julia of Altona spread throughout the land. The scribes wrote that Julia did not like some of the hard-working Australians after all and had denied them three times their nuggets of gold. The people were angry, and the scribes were thoughtful, for that is the way with scribes. They wondered if Kevin from Nambour was really making all this up.

Kevin of Nambour denied them more than three times. But he was still mightily pissed off.  He was consumed with bile, bitterness and his tears flowed into the Brisbane River.

It galled him that Julia of Altona had taken his crown. So much so his gall began to ache and in the dark of night he was taken ill and had to have the bile cast out from his body. Therese of Nambour told the scribes Kevin had many friends throughout the land who sent him many buckets of flowers from the desert.

Julia from Altona denied she had cast on Kevin of Nambour and she sent her bodyguard to wish him well.

 She said she would fight Anthony of Waringah, on the beaches and in the shopping centres of the hard-working Australians throughout the land.  She alone was the rightful leader of the people of the desert land, and she would fight him to the death.