Why Even a My Little Pony Rifle Makes More Sense than Gun Bans
We have all heard the chants from the leftie luvvies that guns kill people. I remember reading a comment online somewhere that if taking guns off people was the answer then surely, in order to cut rapes, men need to chop their dicks off…. Such is the logic.
That guns, in the hands of the wrong people, are wicked. And there is no one with a mind free of mental illness, would think otherwise. In so much as a kind and decent man, in possession of a penis, is not automatically a rapist ( despite the protestations of many radical feminazi’s ) a good man, in possession of a firearm does not a murderer make.
Over the years I have known men with both a penis and a firearm and staggeringly, they are good and decent fellows who work hard, support their families, pay their taxes and believe in old fashioned traditional conservative values.
Read more: Maslow, Munitions and My Little Pony
Dusty Gulch Dispatch: The Great Literary Rebellion
By Roderick (Whiskers) McNibble, Special Correspondent (still in hiding after a big week in Dusty Gulch)
Well, folks, Dusty Gulch has gone and done it again - stirred up a storm bigger than a dingo’s howl in a willy willy.
The arrival of Banjo Paterson and Henry Lawson, two of Australia’s literary titans, was meant to be a moment of pride, a rare chance for our little town to bask in the glow of heritage. Instead, it’s turned into a full-blown revolt against bureaucracy, censorship, and a time of reckoning.
They walked ) or waltzed - into town and and Miss Matilda Longpaddock, member of the CWA, was in tears of joy. Yes, Dusty Gulch was celebrating and Mayor, Dusty McFookit, gave them the keys to the Golden Lamington Cabinet. But what happened next was inconceivable.....
Read more: Literary Legends on the Run: Banjo Paterson and Henry Lawson Booted out of Dusty Gulch!
I was 12 years old when "The Prisoner " came out. Sometimes, I would sneak out of bed and watch it from the hallway when my parents were engrossed in watching the TV. I will never forget my fascination with some bloke running around a quirky town being chased by giant bubbles and mini mokes were the go-to vehicle of the time. It confused me and intrigued me. No doubt, my parents felt the same way. It was hardly the same as watching " I love Lucy " or " Rawhide " but it surely got my little grey cells working overtime.
"The Prisoner," a British television series created by Patrick McGoohan, first aired in September 1967 and ran for 17 episodes. It followed the story of a British secret agent named Number Six, played by McGoohan himself. Set in a mysterious and surreal village, the series explored themes of individualism, freedom, surveillance, and the power of the state.
His most famous and often quoted line was " I am not a number. I am a free man. "
Read more: Be Not a Number: Starving the Serpent to Break Free from the Modern Village
Read more: The Banality of Compliance: When Law Replaces Conscience
On September 3rd, Australia marks National Flag Day - a day that should fill us with pride, remembering the first time our flag was raised in 1901.
Yet today, flying it with conviction is branded divisive, while burning it is tolerated. And in some cases celebrated.
Some dismiss this by saying “Does it matter? It is just cloth,” but it is not.
It is the spirit of a nation, the sacrifice of generations, the history of freedom hard won.
When we allow our flag to be trampled, we trample our own pride - and that is a danger no nation can survive.
Read more: More Than Cloth: Defending Our Flag in an Age of Contempt
Australia was never built on timidity. It was carved out by men and women who faced droughts, floods, and wars with grit, courage, and an unshakable belief in the fair go.
Yet today, that fair go is being strangled.
Ordinary Australians are being priced out of their own homes, left to sleep in cars and tents, while politicians in Canberra open the gates to mass migration on a scale our forebears could never have imagined.
We are told to stay quiet, to swallow the line that questioning this is “racist,” while our way of life - our language, our culture, our unity - is chipped away. The same spark that lit Eureka smoulders again, and if ignored, it will roar into flame.
Read more: From Eureka to Extinction: Australia’s Fair Go Faces Its Toughest Fight
It is hard to believe that twenty-eight years have passed since the world lost Diana, Princess of Wales. Her death on 31st August 1997 shocked nations, silenced newsrooms, and left millions in mourning. To some, she was “the people’s princess”; to others, she was a mother, a campaigner, a truth-teller who dared to show both her courage and her frailties. To me, and to countless others, she was a rare figure who could cross boundaries of class, culture, and circumstance, touching hearts in places where compassion was seldom seen.
For me, it takes me back in time to a day when a group of hardened criminals sat me down and held my hand in united grief.
Read more: Diana, 28 Years On: A Princess of Light, A Legacy of Division
Few figures divide Australians as sharply as Ned Kelly. To some, he is a larrikin folk hero, a defiant battler against a corrupt system. To others, he was a murderer and thief who terrorised the countryside. His last stand at Glenrowan in 1880, clad in homemade iron armour, cemented his place in folklore.
Yet this month, echoes of Kelly’s story resound in Victoria’s alpine region. A massive police manhunt is underway for Dezi Freeman, a 56-year-old man accused of shooting dead two officers in Porepunkah. Like Kelly before him, Freeman has fled into the rugged bushland of north-east Victoria, evading hundreds of police in terrain that offers both sanctuary and danger.
The parallels are hard to ignore. Both stories centre on defiance, armed confrontation, and the challenge of pursuing fugitives in the High Country. But the differences – in context, ideology, and community support - are equally striking.
Read more: Outlaws in the High Country: From Ned Kelly to Dezi Freeman
Scurry through the dusty streets of our part of the bush, and you’ll catch a whiff of magic - golden dust, tiny shamrocks, and the laughter of Paddy, Dusty Gulch’s Irish leprechaun. Yours truly, Roderick (Whiskers) McNibble, a rat with a nose for burger crumbs and pub gossip, knows this town’s sparkle comes from Paddy’s wit, Dusty McFookit’s quiet genius, and a larrikin spirit that embraces a bit of fun - rat tails and all. But when the world demands we call a spade a “little digging thing,” what’s at stake for Dusty Gulch’s diverse chaos and cultures everywhere?
Grab a McFookit Burger, dodge Maurice the E-Duck’s snooping beak, and let’s scamper through the tale.
Read more: Dusty Gulch’s Straight-Talking Soul: Paddy’s Parody and the Fight for Free Banter
We are told it’s all under control. Markets are managed, energy transitions are planned, and the future is green and bright.
But every promise comes with a bill. From the speculative frenzy of Bitcoin, Australia’s costly flirtation with renewables to Norway’s rare success with hydro, the lesson is clear: good intentions are never free. Not in Australia, anyway.
While governments assure us they have the answers, the quiet drip of cost - economic, social, and personal - tells another story.
In the shadow of climate pledges, tech booms, and economic experiments, we find ourselves staring at something that feels a little like Seymour’s “Audrey II” from Little Shop of Horrors—an ever-hungry plant demanding more blood.
Read more: The New Versailles? Weimar, Net Zero, and the Powder Keg of Collapse
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