The PR Blog

Every so often when I turn the TV on  to hopefully watch something light and interesting I  see Parliament in session .     I stay to see if something worth while might be  being talked about.   But no, there is only loud cat calls and raucous interruptions .   Especially if Scott Morrison has been asked a question.    The opposition does not want to hear the answer  , is not interested in the answer and makes as much noise  as possible.  

It seems to be  the accepted  behavior , this rudeness , this constant heckling .   It actually should be very unacceptable behavior , I am surprised the  Speaker does not kick all the rowdy interjectors out of the   chamber.

Well, the democRATs may as well save their campaign money, pack up and go home. After the State of the Union address, Trump showed that he was competent, compassionate and had his finger on the pulse of the American Nation.

I cried, sobbed, smiled, beamed with pride and applauded in equal measure. No doubt mixed like a Vodka Cocktail that Nasty Nancy might have downed before enduring the torture of listening to her President address her Nation.

So the Nats decided to back a drongo who can’t manage the role of Acting Prime Minister and looks like a deer in the headlights every time he stands in front of a camera. They backed a “ little to be proud of “politician with as much gumption as a soy boy for Deputy Leader – how far the mighty have fallen.

Today’s vote for the leadership and deputy leadership of the once great National Party of Australia was a vote for conformity and towing a Party Line that would have been cut and thrown loose decades ago – two people with as much spine as a jellyfish crossing the crater lakes of Palau… which is no spine at all.

When I was a kid, we used to play a game called “ stacks on the mill “. It essentially meant that a kid would lie down and the rest of us would jump on and form a pyramid and chant “ stacks on the mill, more on still “ until the pile of kids collapsed and the poor kid at the bottom of the stack would be able to breathe again. To the best of my knowledge, it referred to the collapse of a mill stack or chimney which would be destroyed under its’ own weight.

It was a great game to play – unless you were the poor bugger at the bottom of the stack.

It reminds me of what is happening in the world today with world population and the importation of “ refugees “ and economic migrants from Third World Nations.

We are the poor bugger at the bottom of the stack and soon, we will collapse from the sheer weight of numbers. But, when it was my childhood game, it was game over. Today, it is the start of the game.

The current immigration from other countries to our countries is unsustainable. We cannot ever be robust enough to withstand the sheer pressure of the weight of numbers that is overwhelming us. Is that what “ they “  want?

The whole world is becoming fake. We have become a plastic world in a world that hates plastic and increasingly encouraged to believe what is fake and discard the one thing that we should hold dear: TRUTH.

It is hard to even define Truth these days. In the olden days, before people got woke and started to regress in to a childish state of wavering between tantrums and beliefs in Greta fairies, Truth was something that relied on Facts.

Facts, back in the days before people got “ woke “ were based on reality.