MirandaDevine.com

….Mr Howard. I just couldn’t go on. I could not carry the torch any longer for you. I lost my grip and I feel my flock slipping away from me, into the interminable darkness of Leftist Limbo.

Great Rudd from the Sky came to visit me earlier this week. I was basking on the sunbed, enjoying the glorious sunshine and listening to some Eagles songs on my Ipod. When he came down, the clouds gathered swiftly and the sky turned dark. Lightning lashed the heavens and it began to rain. Everywhere, the shreiks of winged vegan homosexuals rang through the air, crying “Say you’re Sorry! Say you’re Sorry!”

Then he was upon me, his piggy eyes flaming red and his cherubim face steely cold, his teeth bloodied from his morning feast of Wilson Tuckey a la King . Circling high above was the Witch Gillard, disguised as a pterodactyl. “RAAARK! RAAAARK!!!! Destroy her, Great Rudd!”

Ugh! How I hate that woman! Hideous leftist beast!

Then he spoke, once again in Mandarin.
“I ask you this question: what are you doing, Miranda Devine?”
“Listening to the Eagles”, I said, defiantly. “‘Chillaxing’, as the slovenly leftist hordes might put it. Trying to pretend that you’re not here.”
Great Rudd from the Sky seemed to ignore the tone of my voice. “The Eagles?” he said, “When it comes to the Eagles, I ask myself the following question: am I a fan of them? The answer is, of course, yes. ‘Take It Easy’ is indeed a classic track.”
I sniggered at this. ‘Take It Easy’ is certainly the anthem of the louche stoner left. “That figures”, I remarked snidely.

“Miranda”, Rudd said, “you Desperado, why don’t you come to your senses? You been out riding fences for so long now. Oh, you’re a hard one, I know that you got your reasons, these things that are pleasing you can hurt you somehow.”
“What?”
“Never mind. Great track, Desperado really is. I ask myself this question though: is ‘Take It Easy’, ‘Hotel California’ or ‘Desparado’ the better song?
“Hotel California all the way.”
“RAAAAARK!!!! Desperado! Desperado!” It was the Witch Gillard.
“Shut up, you left leaning bong smoking emaciated pelican”, I bellowed, but the Witch Gillard ignored this. She had removed a packet of dried meat from her lesbian wallet to munch on. The package read: ‘Padraic McGuiness Jerky - Incorrectly Preserved for 60-something Years’. I stifled vomit.

“What do you want, Rudd? Fuck off and let me bask in peace. Why don’t you go and bother those corrupt pricks over at NSW Labor?” The Great Rudd’s eyes flashed ruby red. He was not a fan of NSW Labor.
“Your insolence is intolerable, Miranda Devine! I have heard on the grapevine that the villain Johnny Boy is over in the United States, spreading poisonous lies about me. Do you have anything to do with this?”
“No. I just report the facts. I am of unprecedented journalistic integrity and literary ability.”
“Hmmm”, said the Great Rudd from the Sky, apparently perplexed, “we shall see. But in the meantime, I’ll have you know that I’ve got spies everywhere. Watch your back, Miranda Devine”
“Oh yeah?” I shot back, “Well I haven’t seen any of these so-called spies at recent Quadrant dinners.”
“RAAAAAARKK! I’m eating one right now!” It was the Witch Gillard, munching on her P.P McGuinness jerky. “YUMMEEEEEHHHHH!! RAAAAAAAARK! He worked for us!”
The sinking feeling that yawned out of the pit of my stomach boiled and bubbled and exploded into a paroxysm of rage. Not Paddy… How dare she! I seized my blunderbus from under the sunbed and blasted crackshot in the general direction of the figures in the sky. Again and again I fired, screaming obscenities until they were gone. But the sky remained dark, and the shreiking leftist hordes of flying vegan hermaphrodites started to throw pomegranates at me. I took cover from the roof.

Where art thou, Alexander Downer? Save me from this scourge that has become Middle Australia!

Toodles!!
xx Miranda