By Primula Porker (Mayor of Bogan Chitty).
It is with deep regret that I continue this narrative of events I had no part in, and have no way of changing. The task was given to me by Australian Security Services and I offer this intermediary report in the spirit honoured by all right thinking Australians - the spirit of blame and the masking of unacceptable truth. At its conclusion, this report will be sealed. Any leaked account must be considered false and any person or persons responsible for the distribution of a false account in any form will be prosecuted under the Act(s) governing Australian Security and Protection of the Political Integrity of Her Majesties Government of Australia.
Any person or persons finding any such false account should not continue to read said false account beyond the point where it may reasonably be assumed recognisable as a false account of a sealed government document. The person or persons should then report the matter to the nearest police station citing Government Security Reference: 8729900421879(B). Failure to comply with these conditions will leave person or persons so failing, open to prosecution under the Act(s) previously cited and subject to, but not limited by, penalties that include fines of up to $20,000,000 and/or imprisonment for life without benefit of trial.
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(The direct involvement of Bogan Chitty Council began with a hysterical phone call from Councillor Barjy to Mayor Porker. At a hastily convened meeting, Barjy explained the situation and was sworn to secrecy. Following that meeting Mayor Porker quickly arranged for Councillors Barjy and Bean to be arrested and taken into custody by Australian security agents. The Mayor then spoke on the telephone to the Premier of Queensland.)
Mayor Porker: We need to meet.
Premier Fanny Bligh: Why? What’s happened?
Mayor Porker: Can’t say on the phone.
Premier Fanny Bligh: This is a secure line.
Mayor Porker: Nothing is that secure. We need to meet.
Premier Fanny Bligh: Look, Porky, I can’t drop everything – even for you.
Mayor Porker: ……………………….. Pucker. Maralinga.
Premier Fanny Bligh: Where do you want to meet?
Mayor Porker: Bogan Star Chamber – one hour.
(The Bogan Star Chamber has long been known as the most secure location in Queensland – possibly Australia. It was once home to the launch facility of Australia’s only attempt to develop intercontinental ballistic weapons. Now it is used for the most secret meetings between local or state government and their paid-up real estate developers or infrastructure asset strippers. Even the Brisbane chapter of ASSIO’s social club has been known to hold its darts night there.
The meeting with Premier Fanny Bligh began a chain of events unprecedented in Australian political history. All those associated with what became known as ‘The Maralinga Affair’ disappeared. Arjy Barjy, Sean Bean, Senior Sergeant Slideback, Constable Gruff, Bistro Waiters and Dr. Plinthmember were all presumed to have been removed to high security facilities, but no one knew exactly where those facilities might be.
The owner of a hotel called The Frill Necked Lizard met with a shooting accident. He had apparently discharged his pistol into the air and by freakish chance, the bullet travelled exactly straight up and when it returned to earth it struck the upturned face of the hotelier, entering his skull right between the eyes. Police called it a hundred million to one chance.
The international comedians Billy Colony and Robbin Millions were charged with several murders but subsequently found to be criminally insane. They are undergoing intensive psychiatric treatment and appearing Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday (plus a Sunday afternoon matinee) at the Queensland Cultural Centre (Adult tickets - $55, Children - $255 and Pensioners can fuck off.)
Security forces are still searching For Iris Pessary who is considered unarmed but dangerous. It is recommended that Pessary be shot on sight.)
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THE FOLLOWING INFORMATION MAY BE SUMMISED FROM EVIDENCE GAINED OVER TIME.
(When Iris Pessary leaned forward in her wheelchair at the creek to lift her laundry wash bag out of the tumbling water, her chair began to roll. She snatched at the raised wheelchair console to snap it into place across the chair arms. Her fingers fumbled for the wheel lock button but it was too late. Iris screamed with panic and terror as her chair carried her into the fast running creek that snatched her and whirled her away. The water was deep, within moments it was over her head and she knew she would drown. The fear was replaced by rage and she pounded her fists on the console with such force it activated a shock sensitive switch. The console was designed to interface with Greased Batshit making her wheelchair an extension of that powerful machine. The console also housed special safety features including an airbag that now burst from its compartment, completely blocking her view of the world as well as buoying her to the surface, gasping and crying with relief.
The creek swept her along at what seemed to be a breath taking speed but it was only the violence of the water’s chaotic currents and the tumbling through boulder-strewn valleys that gave that impression. For over an hour Iris was pounded, twisted and tormented by the wild ride through an empty land. Somehow, she gradually managed to get the wheelchair near the bank where she snatched at overhanging branches in an attempt to pull herself out of the main thrust of the waters surge. At last, the pace slowed and she had left the main creek and found herself in a slow muddy tributary that wound gently through a dark tunnel of scrub. Mosquitos came at her in clouds and she desperately waved her arms to clear them from her face. This prevented her from realising the pace was picking up again and when she did become aware, it was too late. The muddy water was funnelling between high cliffs of water worn rock. The cliffs closed over and she was in a cave where the sound of water was a crashing and a splashing and a thunderous, echoing roar. Iris screamed again but she could hear nothing except the crashing torrents and then she dropped – dropped like a stone.)
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TWO WEEKS LATER
(A hard labour federal prison camp in South East Queensland. A group is working at a cliff face, breaking stone.)
Arjy: This is bloody ridiculous. How long do they think they can keep us here?
Gruff: As long as they like. We’ll never get a hearing, this is national security stuff.
Sean: But we haven’t done anything wrong! Sod it! I’ve got a splinter.
Trust Warder Slideback: Oy, you lot! Keep digging!
Bistro Waiters: What made you special, Senior Sergeant Slideback? Why are you a Trust Warder while we‘re flogging ourselves to death?
Trust Warder Slideback: Because I’ve got contacts, Waiters. Now get on with it. That trench has to be ready in two days. They want to test the foundation assembly on Thursday and no later.
Arjy: In that case we need to blast. This is solid rock down here. I don’t see why they need foundations anyway; this bedrock isn’t going anywhere.
Trust Warder Slideback: Because when this valley floods the wall will have to hold back millions of tonnes of water. And don’t forget we need to dig thirty metres into that cliff face to anchor the end wall. I’ll send the blasting team down in half an hour so you guys get to the top of the pit and take a break.
MEANWHILE.
(The State Premier’s private conference room, State Parliament, Brisbane, Queensland, Australia.
Present are: Premier Fanny Bligh and various aides, Douglas Beenshuffler - CEO Woodies supermarket chain and Malcolm Lockfist - CEO Cols supermarket chain. Also present are an army of accountants and several weasel-faced PR consultants.)
Premier Fanny Bligh: Well gentlemen, that is what’s on the table.
CEO Beenshuffler: Jesus! I don’t know, Fanny.
CEO Lockfist: Well, I fucking do! I’m a blunt man, Premier Bligh, and I’m telling you that nobody is going to buy a tomato like that!
Weasel 1: With respect Mr. Lockfist, are we asking the right question of this tomato? Instead of asking if people will buy this particular product, shouldn’t we be asking what people expect from their tomato?
CEO Lockfist: Look, fella, don’t tell me my business. I know what people expect from a fucking tomato. They expect something they can slice and throw into a salad. What they don’t expect is something a metre wide, weighing a hundred kilos and with skin that would make a fucking rhino bullet proof! Christ, you’d need a bobcat to get it home! No, this just ain’t gonna work and that’s that.
Chief Government Accountant: If I may, Premier Bligh? Thank you………. Mr. Lockfist, Mr. Beenshuffler - if you will kindly look at these costings I have prepared, you can see the entire structure of our proposal, including special tax benefits, home produce incentives and exclusive export licence agreements in favour of both Woodies and Cols. The State Government merely supplies the product directly to you. You will notice, gentlemen, that production levels will far exceed national requirements. This leaves an export potential open exclusively to you. You will also notice that the humble tomato is only the first in a line of equally profitable products. You will have the option to buy these products from the State Government at similar rates. I have taken the liberty of extending these figures to give projections for the next 20 years. I would also add that the State Government is prepared to underwrite these projections up to a level of 80%. In other words – if your profit margin on these products fails to meet the projections the State Government will make up the shortfall to an extent guaranteeing at least 80% of the projected bottom line. If you check this last page, gentlemen, you will see your guaranteed results year by year.
CEO Lockfist: Wow! Well, maybe we can do some business here. Maybe we can sell it in slices like melon. Yeah, that might work. We could be ‘the fresh slice people’. How about that, Douglas?
CEO Beenshuffler: It certainly looks promising, I must admit. You have bananas listed here as a future product. How big would they be?
Premier Fanny Bligh: Present estimates suggest something in the order of 250 kilos each.
CEO Lockfist: Fuck me!
Premier Fanny Bligh: But not with a banana, eh Malcolm?
CEO Beenshuffler: Premier Bligh, will your produce be exclusively vegetable?
Premier Fanny Bligh: You don’t miss much do you Douglas? Can I say at this stage that CSIRO are testing special animal feed, as we speak.
CEO Beenshuffler: So, the next time we are invited here you might have a 50 tonne cow to show us.
Premier Fanny Bligh: All things are possible.
CEO Lockfist: Jesus! Well, just make sure you don’t have me sitting under the bastard when it takes a shit.
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A LITTLE LATER.
(Premier Fanny Bligh has a private conversation with her CSIRO advisor, Professor Damon Ringwood.)
Ringwood: I have to advise caution, Premier Bligh. This is untried and the readings do not look good.
Premier Fanny Bligh: Damon, we have no time for caution. Queensland is going under and without this project we might as well throw in our lot with Zimbabwe. Queenslanders will die, Professor Ringwood! - Die! We have nothing left to sustain the population and very little left to hock. The Fast Food Project is our lifesaver and you are worried about a 10% increase in cancer rates? Look, wasn’t it you who told me this waste material has been in the area for over thirty years but the rate of suspected radiation induced sickness is only slightly above the national average?
Ringwood: Yes, but ……
Premier Fanny Bligh: No buts, Damon. Better we lose 10% of the population to radiation sickness and cancer than 50% to starvation and revolutionary war. Rudd is backing me up on this.
Ringwood: Very well, Premier Bligh. I just wanted to make it clear that …..
Premier Fanny Bligh: Your objections are noted, Ringwood.
Ringwood: Yes, Premier Bligh, I’ll push Fast Food ahead with all speed.
TO BE CONTINUED.
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