Patriot Realm

Parishioners of St. Linguine’s Basilica (well, it felt Italian enough) were left choking on incense and incensed as the Australian Hon. Chris Bowen, Energy Minister and apparent carb enthusiast, made a grand late entrance to Sunday mass … clutching a steaming bowl of gnocchi.

Witnesses say Bowen, possibly thinking the Spirit had already descended and the mass had wrapped up, parked himself in the front pew, whipped out his fork, and began communing not with the Divine...  but with ricotta-stuffed dumplings.

We at Ratty News believe in forgiveness, flavour, and showing up on time. We do not, however, endorse interrupting sacred rituals for potato pasta.

Whether it was hunger, haste, or a divine misunderstanding, Mr. Bowen has cemented his place in the Ratty archives as the first minister in history to mistake a Mass for a food court.

And so it was that the isolated bush town of Dusty Gulch invited Mr Bowen and Prime Minister Albanese to enjoy a pasta meal with them....Les the Roo Shooter stated: “You turn up late with carbs to a sacred affair in Dusty Gulch? You best hope it’s your Last Supper, mate.”

By Roderick (Whiskers) McNibble, Senior Outback Correspondent
Dusty Gulch -  where the dust bites harder than a midge and the locals are tougher than a roo's toenails.

Within minutes of stepping off the EV-powered air-conditioned eco-chopper (which needed a diesel backup generator to start), the pair were met with 43°C heat, no Wi-Fi (Starlink had been "accidentally" unplugged), and a disgruntled mayor who greeted them with:

“No power, no snags, and the only cash we’ve got is in the dog's biscuit tin. Welcome to Net Zero, boys.”

Residents had been preparing. Locals coordinated Operation Welcome Committee with the precision of a NATO drill. Highlights included:

• Power cut: “The genset’s out of fuel,” said the mayor. “Can’t get any. Diesel's been banned. Because... Net Zero.”

• Cashless conundrum: The PM tried to buy a bottle of tepid water. The shopkeeper pointed to the broken EFTPOS and the closed bank and said, “This is a cashless society, mate. So, no water for you.”

• Fresh ‘pasta’: Chris Bowen was offered a steaming bowl of fly-blown maggots from the bin. “They’re bugs, Chris. You love ze bugs, right?

Full of protein, flavour, and voter resentment......

Tensions escalated when a group of unshowered roo shooters wandered in for a cold one, plonked themselves on the pub veranda, and began a “friendly discussion” about power bills and electric utes.

“Haven’t seen an EV out here,” one local said, swatting flies off his stubby. “Maybe they melt.”

Meanwhile, whispers of a minor rat plague emerged. Prime Minister Albanese said ( firmly ) , “Roderick, we don’t call it a plague. We call it rat-based ecosystem enrichment. They’re locals too.”

In a brief moment of confusion, one homeowner mistook the PM for an intruder and almost “accidentally liberated him with a 12-gauge.” No injuries, but Albo was last seen requesting urgent extraction and muttering, “We should have gone to Noosa.”

In an unexpected twist, another resident, newly identifying as a Sikh Aboriginal Christian Alpaca Whisperer, claimed ancestral hunting rights and was busy ordering a new machete because his lawnmower had broken down. 

As the sun set and the internet refused to rise, the PM finally found reception -  on a Telstra payphone covered in redback spiders. His parting words?

“We hear you. We’re committed to more renewable confusion and further consultation.”

While Minister Bowen took shelter under a questionable awning outside the Dusty Gulch General Store (power off, naturally), Ratty News caught up with local CWA stalwart Beryl McCrindle, who had just finished baking six trays of lamingtons by residual heat alone.

“He came out here to explain Net Zero,” Beryl said, gesturing with a wooden spoon caked in passionfruit icing. “But the only thing at zero around here is our patience.”

Beryl, 71, is a third-generation member of the Country Women’s Association and regional champion for her triple-cream scones. Today, however, she was serving opinions hotter than her sponge cake.

“He sat there in church with a box of cold pasta,” she muttered, dabbing sweat from her brow. “Didn’t even bow his head at grace. Said he was carbo-loading for climate resilience.”

Nearby, a roo shooter spat reflectively into the dust. “We’ve got enough bugs in the bin for his next meal if he’s keen,” he said, eyeing Bowen’s entourage with a mix of suspicion and amusement.

Meanwhile, Bowen briefly attempted to call Canberra for backup, only to realise the Starlink dish had been disabled “for atmospheric equity reasons.”

“He’s from a different world,” Beryl sighed. “Where people think you can plug your EV into a eucalyptus tree and call it progress. Out here, we don’t run on ideology. We run on petrol, meat, and common sense.”