Rowland S Howard

Vale.

Sage advice, I'm sure you'll agree.

I was dreaming in my dreaming
of an aspect bright and fair
and my sleeping it was broken
but my dream it lingered near
in the form of shining valleys
where the pure air recognized
and my senses newly opened
I awakened to the cry
that the people / have the power
to redeem / the work of fools
upon the meek / the graces shower
it's decreed / the people rule

The people have the power
The people have the power
The people have the power
The people have the power

Vengeful aspects became suspect
and bending low as if to hear
and the armies ceased advancing
because the people had their ear
and the shepherds and the soldiers
lay beneath the stars
exchanging visions
and laying arms
to waste / in the dust
in the form of / shining valleys
where the pure air / recognized
and my senses / newly opened
I awakened / to the cry

Refrain

Where there were deserts
I saw fountains
like cream the waters rise
and we strolled there together
with none to laugh or criticize
and the leopard
and the lamb
lay together truly bound
I was hoping in my hoping
to recall what I had found
I was dreaming in my dreaming
god knows / a purer view
as I surrender to my sleeping
I commit my dream to you

Refrain

The power to dream / to rule
to wrestle the world from fools
it's decreed the people rule
it's decreed the people rule
LISTEN
I believe everything we dream
can come to pass through our union
we can turn the world around
we can turn the earth's revolution
we have the power
People have the power ...

This time of year also makes me stabby as I am inevitably approached by morons who ask me “are you making any New Year resolutions?” to which my reasoned response is “no, do I look like a fucking cretin”?

However, as a public service, I offer this observation.

Avoid Atavar.

It is made by James Cameron and is therefore shit.

Twenny Ten

The Year We Make Contact With Common Sense...Or Not

It was bad enough when everybody celebrated the beginning of the new millennium a year early in 2000 - rather than celebrating the last year of the old millennium - but when people started calling the years 'two thousand and something' it really, really pissed me off (along with numerous other pedants).

We've always called it 'nineteen' something, or 'eighteen' something. 'Nineteen Eighty Four' for example. 'Eighteen Forty Two'. 'Ten Sixty Six'. So why were we suddenly calling it 'Two Thousand and One'? Why not 'Twenty Oh One'? Like 'Nineteen Oh One' or 'Sixteen Oh One'.

I hereby move a motion to call next year (the last year of the first decade of the new millennium) 'Twenty Ten'. Not 'Two Thousand and Ten'. At the risk of labouring the point, we didn't call it 'One Thousand Nine Hundred and Ten'. Anyway, apart from historical precedent, my preferred option contains fewer syllables. Why wouldn't you do it? In this age of texting and tweeting abbreviations (God help us) it makes sense. Doesn't it?

A very special PSF.

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light;
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more,
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease,
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ** that is to be.

Without coming over all Myf Warhurst*, seasons beatings to you all comrades.

See you on the other side.

* Whom I hate and want to die.

** I put that bit in to annoy Pers and Melba.

PQ's Top 10 Songs of the 2000s: No. 1

There's this bloke called Kevin Barnes (above) in the US who releases a lot of music in various guises, most of which is unlistenable bog. Oh, he's done a couple of half-decent songs, but most of them are rubbish. "Oh, look at me, I can use twelve different pop styles in the same verse.... I'm a genius!". No, you're not. You're annoying.

But anyway, one day in 2006, with nothing but a synth, a loop pedal and a notebook of stream-of-consciousness lyrics, Kevin Barnes created 13 minutes of perfect music.

In my mind, this is so far the best track of the 2000s that it is twice as good as the next best.

I've explored you with the detachment of an analyst
But most nights we've raided the same kingdoms
And none of our secrets are physical

It goes for 13 minutes so it's not on YouTube, but luckily some chick put the whole song on her blog.

The winner is 'The Past Is A Grotesque Animal' by Of Montreal, and you can listen to it here, but listening to it on a blog will not do it justice. If you can, buy the original on CD and play it loud. The album is called 'Hissing Fauna, Are You The Destroyer?'

(Prediction: Obtuse-A and possibly RandomGit will be the only two who will like it (aside from Lewd Bob, who I know likes it... in fact, he got me on to it in the first place)).


Not gay at all.

Put that thing away, Lev Davidovich!

Leon Trotsky, root rat!

Reading Bertrand M. Patenaude’s extremely interesting Stalin’s Nemesis: The Exile and Murder of Leon Trotsky I came across a letter that Trotsky wrote to his wife Natalia in July 1937.

Since I arrived here, not once has my poor cock stood up straight. It’s as though it doesn’t exist. It’s also resting from the stresses of these days. But in spite of it, I myself am thinking tenderly of your old, dear cunt. I want to suck on it, shove my tongue all the way inside it. Natalochka, my dear, I will ever more strongly fuck you with my tongue and with my cock. Forgive me Natalochka these lines, it seems it’s the first time in my life that I write to you like this.

Blimey!

Trotsky was then 57 and had just finished an affair with Frida Kahlo.

I don’t know whether to be impressed or repelled but mostly I find myself thinking – how on earth did he find the time?

I mean, here he was, being chased by Stalin’s secret police across three continents and he still had time to be concerned about his dick.

It’s also sobering to realise that in the extremely unlikely event somebody writes my biography, my most intimate correspondence with my wife will mostly revolve around whether we should have Thai or pizza tonight for takeaway.

PQ's Top 10 Songs of the 2000s: No. 2

Electrelane were an all-chick band from England who inexplicably disbanded after four great albums when they were at the height of their popularity. What the hell's wrong with these bands? Why the hell would you split up? What are you going to do? Work at a bank? You're fucken rockstars, it's the ultimate job!

Anyway, they're awesome, and are on high rotation on my stereos. They perform a kind of 'drone-rock'. Think Nico, mixed with Neu!, mixed with Stereolab and Sonic Youth, or something. Many of their songs stick to one or two chords, they get into a groove and work the hell out of it. This then becomes the best driving music. It is perhaps an indication of how much driving I do (living so far from Melbourne, but having so many reasons to go there) that this song is high up on my list, and Electrelane is so appreciated by me.

The song is from their second album 'The Power Out' which came out in 2004, and it's a classic drone rock piece. A fan has made a video for it, and I'm glad that s/he chose driving footage because that's where the song makes most sense.

A note: As I have mentioned before, I hate saxophones, and here I have my second best song of the 2000s featuring a sax solo, but, as you will hear, the performer treats the foul instrument with the contempt it deserves. Also, musically speaking, the way the sax comes to its finale just as the synth comes back in is one of those 'moments' in music that make me melt... Gee I love rock music.

The songs is called 'Only One Thing Is Needed'.

They got it going on alright.

(Sound quality isn't so good... please buy the song)

,

PQ's Top 10 Songs of the 2000s: No. 3

Gogol Bordello, a gypsy punk band, win my 'band of the decade' award for producing three incredibly strong albums as well as a stack of side-projects all of high quality (though I tend to squirm when I think of their stint as Madonna's backing band).

Based in the US, the band is made-up predominantly by eastern European immigrants, most notably the lead singer and chief songwriter, Eugene Hutz (of Romani extraction... his family went on the mover after Chernobyl) who you may know from his brilliant acting performance in the film 'Everything Is Illuminated'.

The music is very high energy, incredibly theatrical (as you can tell from the live clip below) and perfectly irreverent. I get a bit bored with all this introspecdtive rock music. These guys just have a lot of fun, even when they are spouting political messages.

Though most well-known for their 'hit' Start Wearing Purple , the song I have at No. 3 is called '60 Revolutions' . I reckon I've played this song and jumped around the house about 400 times in the past few years. It's infectious, and the arrangement is awesome. The last half, when the go-go girls jump in and he changes languages is some of the best folk punk ever made.

It's loud and brash, but I hope you can watch both clips below (the first being the a live version showing the band at their theatrical best, the other being a bizarre fan video with the original recording. I couldn't find a You Tube version with decent sound, so if you're going to buy one song in I-tunes today, please buy this one and hear it in hi-fi).

60 revolutions per minute
this is my regular speed
So how do you want me to live with it?
How do you want me to live with it?
Without ringing all alarms!
Without overthrowing czars!
Without emptying the bars!
Without screwing with your charts!

I'm gathering new generation
That's gonna stand up to it
To this karaoke dictatorship
Where posers and models with guitars
Boogie to the shit for beats
I make a better rock revolution
Alone with my dick!

Poetry Slam Friday

You do not always know what I am feeling.
Last night in the warm spring air while I was
blazing my tirade against someone who doesn't
interest
me, it was love for you that set me
afire,

and isn't it odd? for in rooms full of
strangers my most tender feelings
writhe and
bear the fruit of screaming. Put out your hand,
isn't there
an ashtray, suddenly, there? beside
the bed? And someone you love enters the room
and says wouldn't
you like the eggs a little

different today?
And when they arrive they are
just plain scrambled eggs and the warm weather
is holding.

PQ's Top 10 Songs of the 2000's: No. 4

I've already posted a live version of this song a few weeks ago, but here is the original recording with what I presume is another fan video.

I might actually get some purchase from Patchouli and Puss on this one. There's not much in this stunning song to dislike. It's eerie, sad, romantic, powerful and adept all at once. The first time I heard it I was blown away by its sentiment and gradual musical build. It starts great and then just gets better and better.

It's by Beth Gibbons (from Portishead, who I was never fussed about) and someone called Rustin Man. The song is called 'Funny Time Of Year' and I hope you enjoy it.

Oh Gawd, this old chestnut.

One of the great markers that the holiday season is upon us is the numbers of bored hacks writers in the Sunday papers churning out pieces about what to do and not to do at the “office Christmas party”

For those completely clueless, said writers produce gems like “drink in moderation”, “don’t wear revealing clothes” and “don’t goose the boss while shouting ‘let’s re-create Operation Barbarossa, you saucy minx’,” and so-on and so-forth.

Even more painful are the humorous takes on what to do and not do at the office Christmas party, as witnessed by The Dev in the Age today.

Therefore in keeping with the clichés of the season, I present the Ramon Insertnamehere guide to what to do and not do at the office Christmas party.

Don’t fuckin go.

For those who do work in an office, consider your co-workers for a moment.

Aren’t they the most insufferable bunch of arse-clowns you’ve every come across? I mean, you’d rather go wild on gin with Tony Abbott than spend a minute more than you have to in their malodorous presence.

Sweet Jesus.

For those of you who work from home, however, this is the perfect time to drink all those bottles of Polish vodka you’ve been storing and make abusive calls to the Pope while wearing a reindeer costume.

You know it makes sense.

PQ's Top 10 Songs of the 2000s: No. 5

Racing through now...

You were hoping I'd get through this list without Melt-Banana weren't you?*
Not likely!

But give it a shot. The last 45 seconds of this delighful little pop song sounds a little bit like, well, a song. You might like some of it.

Play it LOUD. Go on. It's less than two and a half minutes...

It is called 'Blank Page Of The Blind'.

*Except for Obtuse-A, who may very well have been hoping the opposite.



(NB: I do prefer Melt-Banana's medley of First Contact With Planet Q / Warp, Back Spin, but because it is technically two songs, it didn't make the Top 10 - below is that medley, but the dickhead who made the video missed the last minute of the second song. Funniest bit is in the comments bit where someone has written: "AHHH OMG WTF IS HAPPENING?! SOMEONE HELP ME!!! -falls and dies- ).

Lewd Bob's Top 20 Albums of 2009

Woods - Songs of Shame


As Perseus pointed out recently, I like compiling lists. And since we're talking about music, and it's almost the end of the year, allow me to temporarily interrupt Perseus' top 10 songs of the 2000s with my annual list of top 20 albums of the year.

Let me perhaps increase the interest of this post by offering a free copy of Lewd Bob's Best of 2009*. Each year I compile a double CD containing my favourite tracks from these top albums (plus many more!). I am willing to give away 10 copies, which means much printing, burning and anguish over track-listing.

The first 10 people to state their interest, will receive one.



















Steve McBean from Pink Mountaintops wondering how he'll dress for the photo shoot

Here's the list:

1. Woods - Songs of Shame
2. Pink Mountaintops - Outside Love
3. Built To Spill - There is No Enemy
4. The Thermals - Now We Can See
5. AC Newman - Get Guilty
6. Bill Callahan - Sometimes I Wish I Were an Eagle
7. Beirut - March of the Zapotec
8. Animal Collective - Merriweather Post Pavilion
9. Atlas Sound - Logos
10. The Antlers - Hospice
11. Islands - Vapours
12. Grizzly Bear - Veckatimest
13. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs - It's Blitz
14. Jason Lytle - Yours Truly, The Commuter
15. Sunset Rubdown - Dragonslayer
16. Swan Lake - Enemy Mine
17. Girls - Album
18. The Clientele - Bonfires on the Heath
19. The Felice Brothers - Yonder is the Clock
20. The Flaming Lips - Embryonic

With apologies to Cymbals Eat Guitars, Art Brut, Volcano Choir, Wilco, Dirty Projectors and a few others. Their tracks may still, however, make the CD.



















Jason Lytle in his bedroom: "Mum, I'll be down after I skol a beer!"


*This assumes there are people out there who actually want one, and who are, further, prepared to provide me with their postal address.

PQ's Top 10 Songs of the 2000's: No. 6

Shut up. I like folk-punk.
'Flannigan's Ball' by Dropkick Murphys.
The song is not about the environment, or about how we should love one another.
It's about a party that ends up an all-in brawl.
Guest vocals by Spider from The Pogues.

Lyrics ace.

In the town of Milton one
Brian Flannigan battered away till his money was spent
Then he hit a big one and felt like a man again,
Bought a three decker with two floors for rent

He threw a big party for friends
And relations at a grand old place called Florian Hall
And if you'll just listen I'll make your eyes glisten
To the rows and the ructions of Flannigan's ball.

[Chorus:]
Six long months I spent in quincy,
Six long months doing nothing at all,
Six long months I spent in quincy
Learning to dance for Flannigan's ball
I stepped out and I stepped in again,
Learning to dance for Flannigan's ball.

Free beer on tap and wine for the ladies,
Ziti and sauce for mark porzio
There were faheys and bradys,
Mcauliffes and daleys courtin the girls and dancing away.

Brian tully sang out in his finest form,
The patron's responded and I lead em all
I'd spent 6 months at Forbes Academy
Learning to dance for Flannigan's ball

[Chorus]

The boys were hammered the girls were hearty
Dancing around in couples and groups
An accident happened to Dennis Flemming
Put his right leg through miss Finneran's hoops

This gal she fainted and cried bloody murder,
Called for her sons and gathered them all,
Christopher swore he'd go no further
Till he had revenge at Flannigan's ball

[Chorus]

In the midst of the melee
Miss Collins fainted - her cheeks by now were as red as a rose
Some of the boys decreed she was plastered
Had a small drop too much I suppose

Young Scotty Jenkins so big and able
Saw his fair colleen stretched by the wall
Tore the left leg from under the table
And smashed all the dishes at Flannigan's ball

Boy oh boy now this was a rumble myself
Took a lick from mean Ricky Green
But I soon replied to that fine introduction
And gave him a terrible kick in the spleen

Talent the piper nearly got strangled,
They squeezed on his bellows, chanters and all,
The girls in the middle nearly got trampled
And that put an end to Flannigan's ball

Ah, the innocence of youth.

Sunday afternoon was mostly spent wrangling The Boy (aged five), The Boy’s Best Mate (also aged five) and the Best Mate’s Younger Brother (aged two).

While resting in the living room nursing a quiet beer planning more diversions for those young rascals, I overheard the following conversation floating in from the back yard.

The Boy: “Look, look, a centipede, coming out from that rock.”

The Boy’s Best Mate: “Wow! Kill it, kill it! Hit it with a stick!”

TB: “Hang on, I’ll get a brick.”

There followed some scuffling and the sound of muffled thumping.

TB: “There.”

TBBM: ‘Is it dead?”

TB: “I think so. Its head come off.”

TBBM and TB (together): “Cool!!”

That and asking the Younger Brother several hundred times if he needed to go to the toilet was probably the highlight of the weekend.

Thanks for reminding me, Bob.

Thinking back now,
I suppose you were just stating your views
What was it all for
For the weather or the battle of Agincourt
And the times that we all hoped would last
Like a train they have gone by so fast
And though we stood together
At the edge of the platform
We were not moved by them

With my own hands
When I make love to your memory
It's not the same
I miss the thunder
I miss the rain
And the fact that you don't understand
Casts a shadow over this land
But the sun still shines from behind it.

Thanks all the same
But I just can't bring myself to answer your letters
It's not your fault
But your honesty touches me like a fire
The polaroids that hold us together
Will surely fade away
Like the love that we spoke of forever
On St Swithin's day

This always remins me of every single relationship I've fucked up.

Oh, and

St. Swithin's day if thou dost rain
For forty days it will remain
St. Swithin's day if thou be fair
For forty days 'twill rain nae mair.

Hope that clears things up.

Abbott's Front Bench

Alex, in a recent post:

Dr Insertnamehere, what's your take on Abbott's new front bench...?

So Ramon can make an informed comment, I've included here a recent picture of Abbott's front bench, just prior to afternoon tea:

PQ's Top 10 Songs of the 2000s: No 7

Why I love this song...

1. Great use of strings.
2. The sentiment is beautiful.

Alexander, our older brother
Set out for a great adventure
He tore our images out of his pictures
He scratched our names out of all his letters

Our mother should've just named you Laika...

Come on, Alex. You can do it!
Come on, Alex. There's nothing to it!
If you want something, don't ask for nothing!
If you want nothing, don't ask for something!

Our mother should've just named you Laika...
It's for your own good
It's for the neighborhood...
The neighborhood!

Our older brother bit by a vampire
For a year, we caught his tears in a cup
And now we're gonna make him drink it
Come on, Alex. Don't die or dry up!

Our mother should've just named you Laika
It's for your own good
It's for the neighborhood...
The neighborhood!

When daddy comes home, you always start a fight
So the neighbors can dance in the police disco lights

The police disco lights
Now the neighbors can dance!
The police disco lights
Now the neighbors can dance!


I present at Number 7, 'Neighbourhood #2 (Laika)' by Canadian hit-and-miss stars, Arcade Fire.

It was never a single, but luckily someone made a clip for it anyway as a school project.

It's just like Crikey. Only we say "cunt" a lot more.

With a federal election likely in the middle of next year the team at Australia’s 126th most influential blog, The Site Formally Known As, is gearing up to give you the country’s hardest hitting political coverage*.

TSFKA political editor Ramon Insertnamehere said the site was chock-a-block with drunks and layabouts some of Australia’s finest political analysts.

“TSFKA’s unparalleled election coverage includes reporters from across Australia with a special correspondent in the nation’s capital**,” Dr Insertnamehere said.

“In addition, our resident Texan Pirate Goth will be bringing us all the colour and light from some Godforsaken shit-hole out in the sticks.

“I’ve put all the preparations in place; the shed is full of beer, the anti-depressants are in and the local pizza place is on speed-dial.

“I’m confident the TSFKA’s unique combination of inaccurate bullshit, drunken ramblings, sneering, shouting, bleak political hatred and cribbing from better informed blogs will provide our readers with all the election information they really don’t want.”

The first The Site Formally Known As election special will be out as soon as I can be arsed.

* Or possibly not.

** Your mum lives in Canberra, doesn’t she Kettle?

Good. Now can we fucking move on?

Not the "controversial St Kilda triangle".

In news that will mean little to those outside Melbourne, the “controversial St Kilda triangle*” will now not go ahead.

My attitude has always been “build the fucking thing, don’t build the fucking thing, I don’t care, can we just get to the latest cricket score” but for some reason the Age and the local ABC convinced themselves that all of Melbourne were desperately concerned about a patch of waste land** in St Kilda.

Ask them why and you usually got some guff about “St Kilda being Melbourne’s lounge room***”.

This might be a north-of-the-river thing but my response to the whole “Melbourne’s lounge room thing” is – is it fucking bollocks.

St Kilda, in my opinion, is an over rated shit-hole**** and I don’t give a fat rats arse about the “controversial St Kilda triangle”.

And a warning.

The film Bolt is not a documentary about conservative writer Andrew Bolt but is instead a kid’s film about an animated dog and his wise-cracking feline companion.

The cat has all the best lines.

* That’s the way they always wrote it, the “controversial St Kilda triangle”. Sheesh.

** Possibly the waste land that inspired TS Eliot. Or not.

*** You may indeed have a lounge room filled with several hundred overrated restaurants and several thousand shrieking yuppies. In which case, your lounge room is considerably larger than mine.

**** Sorry Melba.

PQ's Top 10 Songs of the 2000s: No. 8

Who doesn't like epic and apocalyptic Oz Rock?

You shoulda heard it live. A huge song. HUGE. Particulalrly back when Blixa was still in the band, you know, being Blixa and all.

Here it is... "Oh My Lord" by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds.

I am a sentimental old lefty.

As we come marching, marching in the beauty of the day,
A million darkened kitchens, a thousand mill lofts gray,
Are touched with all the radiance that a sudden sun discloses,
For the people hear us singing: "Bread and roses! Bread and roses!"

As we come marching, marching, we battle too for men,
For they are women's children, and we mother them again.
Our lives shall not be sweated from birth until life closes;
Hearts starve as well as bodies; give us bread, but give us roses!

As we come marching, marching, unnumbered women dead
Go crying through our singing their ancient cry for bread.
Small art and love and beauty their drudging spirits knew.
Yes, it is bread we fight for -- but we fight for roses, too!

As we come marching, marching, we bring the greater days.
The rising of the women means the rising of the race.
No more the drudge and idler -- ten that toil where one reposes,
But a sharing of life's glories: Bread and roses! Bread and roses!

Boxing: WTF?

''Everyone who doubted me, shove it up your bottoms, you don't know shit … to all the critics that bagged me, you don't know jack shit"

Hmm.

Australian Danny Green (pictured) smashed American Multi World Champion Roy Jones Jr in 90 seconds last night. Smashed him. Beat him to such an extent that the referee called it off before the end of the first round.

Good on them. I don't care if they want to fight each other, if they want to break each other's noses and damage each other's brains irreversibly in a fit of testosterone-charged violence. I actually quite like watching top level boxing and I certainly don't think it should be banned. But why the hell would you do it?

I like the theatre too. The mutual respect hidden behind the inevitable weigh-in face-off at the press conference where they shout inarticulate half-sentences at each other.

Ape-men, acting out man's most primal instincts, i.e. to fight each other. Once upon a time - in stone-age times - winning a fight was rewarded with the right to rule the clan, and the loser was shunned. Now, both participants get shitloads of money and the winner, a fuck-ugly belt.

Progress?

Perseus and Bob Make a Film - Day 1

At 5am on Monday morning 7 disparate individuals headed out into the dry Victorian countryside around Little River. There, they bickered and argued for endless hours over every shot, every detail and every grimace recorded on camera. They were linked only by a common interest in making and/or watching movies.

It was their first day of shooting a short film about betrayal, greed and extreme violence. Here's a picture of Perseus driving a Valiant just prior to his character - Sinister Gangster - topping a hapless hitchhiker.

Perseus looking for the 'go' button

It wasn't all fun and games as several people contracted sunburn, everybody was required to eat 2 pies for lunch and coffee was difficult to procure in the region. Little River had missed the coffee revolution.

Shooting outside an abandoned house, Perseus was required to act.

Perseus requesting the make-up girl

There were many dangers encountered such as erratic drivers, speeding trains and the local redneck community.

The crew wondering what the red button does

I've included an art shot because it was the best I took on the day.

Fanta and Perseus heading to their trailers

It was a 14 hour day complicated by slow driving, rising tides and precarious cliffs.

Perseus doing a Clint Eastwood while a crew member tries out for the Birdman Rally

I lost my voice during the day as a result of shouting obscenities at everybody at every possible moment.

Bob ruing his inability to shout at the sound guy

Half priest, half goat, all man!

Ladies - form a queue!

I might write something serious about this - when I stop laughing.

The really amusing thing is that Malcolm Turnbull has already provided Labor with all the lines they need in the coming months; viz a "far-right, unelectable rabble that stands for nothing".

And consider this comrades; Perseus goes very quiet with his posts and Tony Abbott becomes the new leader of the opposition.

Coincidence? Probably.