Dear Prime Minister,
Sometimes, when you're
smack bang in the middle of a storm that's been going on for a while,
it's hard to figure out what the fuck is really going on. Insanity
becomes the norm, up becomes down and knowing your arsehole from
breakfast time is a real challenge. And when that shit storm is of
your own making, well, it's not unusual to tell the odd porky pie and
to get a bit antsy about all the criticism. And we all know how
easily the adrenaline kicks in and the need to destroy all of one's
enemies from the past and present becomes an unstoppable obsession.
We are reasonable folk, we understand - it's bloody hard being in
charge of shit, let alone a whole nation. One can go a bit crazy
being the big boss – there's no shame in that. Please note Tony:
mental illness is common, it's not a sign of weakness and the
prospects are good if you seek help. And guess what? I have a
solution for ol' China, and I feel the time for compassion is nigh. I
will admit I was getting a bit cranky with you and the fire in me
belly was not doing me, or the dog, any good.
Let's face it, the
game's over Tony, hang up the gloves son, have a rest.
I've got a hunch that
you want to be remembered kindly by history and, believe me, a record
loss at the polls will one almighty piss weak footnote. Compare that
to the glory that would rain down, like a Golden Shower, upon a PM
who had the balls to chuck in the towel and say, “Fair shake of the
sauce bottle, I had a shot and I stuffed up. Time for someone else to
have a go. There's a whole bunch of folk, way better than little old
me, that could do this country proud. I apologise for all the
suffering and the international embarrassment.”
I know you will find
this counter-intuitive, but that's the bloody brilliance of it. So
much so, it just may even get Malcolm, or Scott, or Julie, or
Christopher, or whoever, in at the next election. And if it doesn't
and Labour get in you can rest easy that you won't be charged for a
GP to write up a mental health plan, which you may need when they
approve a wind turbine, or ten, up on the ridge at French's Forest.
Give it some thought
Tones, seriously, imagine the universal impression of magnanimity if
the bloke in the #1 top job humbly stepped down to let a mate step up
and have a shot! It's so freakin Ozzie mate, that I wouldn't be
surprised if Banjo bloody Patterson rose up from the dead to pen “The
Ballad Of Tony Abbott” which would become an instant classic to be
recited by flag draped primary school kiddies for generations to
come. And that pesky the dual citizenship issue? That will disappear
like coal mining in the 21st Century – that's right
cobber we are in the 2000s – crazy eh? You'd not only be a legend,
but your parishioner mates will likely petition Pope Frankie for a
sainthood – Saint Tony, patron saint of the nose (he woke up, smelt
his own shit, and dug a hole and buried it along with himself, talk
about one-upping the IS death cult in the matrydom stakes!)
Look, all that glory
stuff is one thing, but your health Tony is what is really important.
I'm worried about you. I've mentioned the mental stuff but have you
had a physical check up lately? I'm no GP myself - I've thought of it
but the Uni Fees put me off a bit - but I'm sure I've detected the
signs of early onset Parkinson's and Dementia a few times. That
interview that you did with Mark Riley back in 2011 was a red flag
for me – yeh, shit does happen eh? And that was before you even
became PM, these things don't get better all by themselves Tony. But
then again maybe you are seeing a GP? That constant dry mouth that
you just can't seem to wet with that forked tongue of yours, that's
a side effect of medication, surely? But really you shouldn't just be
treating the symptoms Tony, you really should have a break. I've
noticed that twitch in your left eye as well, the stupid media are
calling it a misogynist wink, but as usual they're wrong - whose side
are on they on anyway? And isn't it always the case that those little
quirks of nature happen at the worst moments, and always when
someone’s got a camera on you. And are all those cortisols pumping
through your body giving you a skin rash under your arms and in the
groin? I mean the way you walk looks like you're in a lot of
discomfort. If one didn't know better they might think you were a
cowboy ape. In the interim, try some Johnson's Baby Powder, I'm sure
Peta can duck down to Woolies and get some for you.
I know you love your
family Tony, and even though you still have a mortgage, I think you
can manage to take a well deserved extended break and spend more time
with the gals. I know I may be out of line here but I get the feeling
that Margie is need in of some loving, if you know what I mean
(twitch twitch). And your three not so bad looking daughters,
how long is since you had the time to do some of that Dad stuff with
them. You know, say, have an onion eating contest just for laughs. Or
maybe a family pedal to Perth and back before brekky. The spawn of
your loins deserve that quality time. Scholarships and cheap rent are
great, but now they know they haven't got a half brother the only
familial testostorone they're gonna be able to sniff is from you bud,
you know that. What a precious gift you could give them by quitting
your day job.
I could be all groovy
and righteous and say that I want you to step down for the sake of
the sick, the elderly, the children, the indigenous, the women, the
refuges, the unemployed, the gay folk, the wind farm manufacturers,
the trees, the koalas, and the Barrier Reef, and though I do care
about all that bleeding heart crap, it's you Tony that I genuinely am
concerned for. You care about us, you tell us so, and you've been
working every day for us, you tell us that too, so it's time we cared
about you for a change. You must have some sick leave up your sleeve,
take it – fair dinkum that's what it's there for – hang on your
not on casual are you? And don't you worry your silly little lizard
head about everything coming to a grinding halt, the torch you put to
red tape and the unions will guarantee that Gina and Twiggy and Gerry
and Coles and Woolies will keep us all on the treadmill 24/7 – open
for business just like you said.
Tony I hope you don't
mind me ignoring normal protocol for a change. I live in the seat of
Fischer up on the Sunshine Coast. You may remember coming up here in
2006 for a wedding, I think it cost you $609.10? Beautiful place up
here, which reminds me I better get up to the Great Barrier Reef
soon, the future grand kiddies will ask about it for sure. I know I
should broach this matter of your health and the leadership of the
nation with my local federal MP, Mal Brutus Brough, but I was worried
if I planted a seed in that silly bugger's brain you could end up on
the menu at a fund raiser. It would just be all in good humour of
course, but I hear Mal's got access to your diary and a charity match
cricket bat, which is a dangerous proposition when you consider his
IQ and infamous retributional sex drive.
Go out on your own
terms Tony. Write your own future, I mean you have an unmatched skill
at rewriting history, so put your talent to good use, and write that
retirement plan now. Do a 180 and look at the inevitable future that
awaits you if you keep turning up to work sick. Euthanasia is
illegal, but when has the law ever applied to your colleagues? I'm
right aren't I. Think of yourself for once Tony and get out now
before it's too late.
Good luck cobber,
Seano.