Most of us have long been in two minds about Australia Day. That is, not about the date, but about how to best to celebrate it. In traditional ways, such as at a backyard BBQ with family and friends, at the beach, or to stay at home and be entertained by the Internet?
More recently for many, the popular trend has been, at some point in the day, to head for the living room couch with a group of mates and get pissed while watching screamingly-funny YouTube clips. Not of cats, but of complete imbeciles, for example, such as of Yassmin Abdel Maglied demonstrating that she is just that (a complete imbecile) every time she moves her lips; Bill Shorten (on a secret undercover Four Corners doco) being stripped half-naked and repeatedly bitch-slapped by a group of his CFMEU-mafia bosses; or of Sarah Hanson Young crying crocodile tears over the 1200-odd refugees she helped drown.
That sort of thing.
By way of a change, last year my idea of nation-wide pub contests to find the most entertaining way of mispronouncing Race Commissioner Tim Soutphommasane’s stupid name was enthusiastically taken up. But, no matter how inspired it seemed at the time, few contestants – even when they were sober – could get passed ‘c**t’, or ‘f**king little c**t,’ so the idea fizzled out pretty quickly.
This year, in response to the latest attempts by the usual kill-joys to spoil our fun, I’m proposing the start of an exciting new Aussie tradition. What could be more patriotic for January 26 than to erect life-sized images of vermin like Dr Death Di Natale, Lidia Thorpe, Nick McKim – PLUS that dickhead Pat Cash – around our barbies so that we can (at our leisure) alternatively spit or throw beer cans at them throughout the course of this great day?
And how about – even more exciting – erecting around the foreshores of this great country of ours giant-sized Photo-shopped effigies of these same f***ers together with their families standing before a firing squad (or, optionally, with their heads in a noose) to remind us of just how traitors and very stupid people like Cash would have been dealt with had the Russians or the French in 1770 gotten here ahead of Cook? Then at midnight, to complement the fireworks, and to the strains of that immortal old Bing Crosby hit, ‘Burn, Yah F***ing Bastards, Burn,’ giant bonfires could be lit under the billboards, engulfing the effigies in flames, making for a truly spectacular and unforgettable end to the day.
Here is a heaven-sent, golden opportunity to showcase an emotional outpouring of Aussie national pride: a magnificent sight for the entire world to see, wouldn’t you think?
Of course the Russians, who have always shown themselves to be far more enlightened than Anglo-Saxons when it comes to defending their culture, would have mounted a show-trial before the executions, possibly with a de-testiculation of some sort thrown in somewhere along the line. (In reality, however, The Greens being a virtual testosterone-free zone would have made the latter highly improbable.)
In such a case, watching Pat Cash (ideally) having his face smashed in by the KGB/FSB instead – or by anybody else, for that matter – would have been just as entertaining, and would have gone a long way towards compensation for having being forced to drink vodka and eat borscht all Australia Day instead of beer and prawns. Though (having eaten borscht myself) probably not compensation enough.
Fortunately, Australia wasn’t settled by the Russians, or the French. Equally fortuitous, we have sensible indigenous patriots such as Jacinta Price who recognise that things could have been infinitely worse if some other country had beaten the British to it, and so backs moving on and keeping Australia Day as it is, instead of caving into the filthy Leftist nation-state wrecking-ball.
Unfortunately, though, Jacinta diplomatically dismisses Cash’s vapid virtual-signalling as ‘ill-informed’, failing to dismiss him as the ridiculous pea-brain that he is. But in the spirit of her ‘Save Australia Day’ crusade, I’m happy to forgive Jacinta and do the job for her (see previous sentence), even if she doesn’t completely share my entirely laudable Russophile sensibilities.