Former leader of the Federal Labor Party, Mark Latham, reveals exactly what he thinks of people on the Disability Pension in these extracts* from his daily journal:

9am: Headed to Hungry Jack’s for breakfast. On the way, passed some elitist wankers eating at a hipster cafe just to rub it in the ordinary Australian’s face. They made me so angry I had to punch the straw dispenser several times to calm down. My Aussie BBQ Brekky Wrap was what I call a REAL MAN’S breakfast.

10am: Went to Bunnings to buy a spade, so that I could take it home and call it a spade. And then plant some tomatoes maybe. Asked a sheila where the spades were. She said she didn’t work there. I see this a lot these days: women who think that the sexual revolution gives them the right to say whatever they want to ordinary hard-working Australians. Told her to stop being such a snowflake and tell me where the spades are. She walked away — incredibly rudely, I thought. I worked out my frustrations by overturning several pot plants. Never found the spade. Registered an official complaint with the store manager due to fact all female staff were wearing trousers: identity politics going too far yet again.

11am: Made myself a sandwich at home. Noticed that the bread bag was telling me to recycle it. Screamed at the bread to stop being so PC. Pointed out that this was why the left has lost its way. Banged my head against the water heater till I felt better.

12pm: Popped out to do a bit of gardening. Found it difficult as I had no spade. Shouted over neighbour’s fence that this was emblematic of the crisis in masculinity that Australia is going through. Neighbour refused to come out and listen. Went over and knocked on the door. No answer. “So much for the tolerant left!” I yelled as I uprooted his mailbox and threw it at a passing cat.

12.30pm: Walked the dog, as millions of decent working-class Australians have done for generations without needing to put their hand out for arts grants. As we walked, I informed the dog of the source of the current problems besetting the ALP, i.e. feminism. Passed a feminist outside Woolworths. She asked if I would like to donate to Amnesty International. Told her that her efforts to deny me my free speech would come to naught. She said she was just trying to collect for a worthy cause. I did not fall for her doublespeak; I told her that it was time she got off the Disability Pension and started earning an honest living like a proper man would. She seemed confused, but the bleeding hearts always are when you hit them with the TRUTH.

1pm: Returned to Woolworths to distribute further honesty to the Amnesty woman, since I’d forgotten to call her ugly earlier. Pointed out to her that if men hadn’t died in wars there wouldn’t even be any women, so she could at least make the effort to put on make-up. She walked away and I calmed down by lying on the ground and rubbing my face with gravel for a few minutes. Stood up to find that dog had run away. Truly, we have abandoned the Anzac spirit.

2pm: Got a call from the wife asking if I could pick up some milk. Told her I resented her questioning the extent of my physical strength and proved her wrong by throwing the phone out the window. Tried to make a cup of tea but couldn’t as we were out of milk. Wife clearly has not been doing her job. Tried to ring her to tell her so but couldn’t find my phone. Realised I was getting a bit worked up so took a bubble bath with scented candles. Didn’t work. Kicked a hole in the wall instead. Much better.

3pm: Kids came home from school. Asked them how their day was. Turned out they’d been brainwashed by elitist bleeding heart SJW teachers with a black-armband view of history. Rang the school principal and demanded he face me in the boxing ring. He refused. “This is why Trump won!” I roared. Asked him to explain why he was teaching my children about global warming. Pointed out that Marx had failed. He said he didn’t understand what I was talking about, thus proving that he is gay. Told him I would be taking legal action against the school for being effeminate, and hung up.

4.30pm: Time to start dinner. As I am a man, I cooked a steak. Kids wanted to know what they would be having for dinner. Rather cleverly told them it must be nice, living off welfare. “Back in my day people had jobs,” I shouted. They had headphones in and didn’t hear me, so I quickly wrote an essay on the feminisation of the armed forces and the high percentage of terrorists who are single mothers, and emailed it to them.

6pm: Tried to go to work at Sky, but couldn’t because the security guard at the studio was a woman. Had to stay at a distance, throwing holy water at her. Didn’t work. Called her a lesbian. She wouldn’t move. Called Chris Kenny to come down and help me. He wasn’t there. He’d had the same problem. Had to go home. Cried myself to sleep. A good day.

*As discovered by satirist Ben Pobjie.

Peter Fray

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