FIRST DOG ON THE MOON
Mar 14, 2014
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There’s something in the Abbottsfear – is it castor oil?
Clivegina, a monstrous hybrid nearly as fearsome as the Rinepalmer.
Vlad the Unemployer. In his red speedos, astride a prancing pyne; Emperor of all he sees; and he can see plenty now because there are none of those pesky trees.
If only the senate stays safe; he will have all that meat; and no potatoes
The crawlers cover the floor in the red ochre corridors
Full coalition coverage, no more lifeblood than before.
They’re moving in time to a heavy wooden door,
Where the needles eye is winking, closing on the poor.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
Weve got to get in to get out
Weve got to get in to get out
Weve got to get in to get out.
That should be the Daily Merde?
Ponsonby Scumlington is clearly being groomed for the CoS vacancy in Fiona Gnash’s office.
When is Crikey going to stop repeating the lie that the mining industry is subsidised. Not paying diesel fuel tax is not a handout as the tax was never intended for power generation and off-road usage.
To blend with the landscape I’m thinking of redecorating with LNP wallpaper – so tasteful, so NOW.
We may be comforted by what occurred when the French aristocracy thought they had the populace neatly stitched up.
Won’t last forever … Libs in Turmoil headline already taking hold in Vic.
And Mrs Slocombe will surely roll Mr ABBOneTermTony before long, once he’s set up the copper-lined NanoBeanstalkNetwork
#6: Oh oh. Somebody’s in the wrong place again – or just doesn’t get savage whimsy. Any lamb lying down on Broadway, would get run over by the Prime Mustelid, then scarfed by the Clivegina.
dc: Nah. Mrs Slocombe didn’t do what he was told the first time, so Rupert & Gina’s little friends won’t let him play with the toys again. Toady’s only virtue is following orders to the letter, so he’s the perfect “leader” for the Bully Boys Club of Corporate Jawhol Mensch now known as the Ellenpocalypse. Did you hear Standartenführer Brandis, our Apologist General and Minister for Yarts, yapping about reining in those vicious ingrate artists who insult their corporate donors? Julius Streicher rides again.