MirandaDevine.com

To the Australian Hotels Association and all the barristers that represent it: each day I grow more powerful. I am the raging, flaming incarnation of Influence itself. I am an immolation, sent back in time to burn through red tape and be a beacon of courage. I am a lobbying superpower that galvanises glorious Middle Australia and coaxes it into action. One glorious, united, informed nation of Average Joes.

Truly Glorious.

Don’t fuck with me, John Thorpe, you blue-singletted buffoon. I strung you up from the rafters of the beer swilling barns that you love so much. To me, you are nothing more than the fart in the crowded pub that causes every Middle Australian to exclaim “That’s a bit wrong…was that you, mate?”. You were offensive, but you dissipated. You split into a billion pieces and wafted into the night air. You settled on the walls in tiny gaseous bubble particles. You are nothing more than a distant, lager fuelled memory.

Watch out, Joe Hildebrand of the Daily Telegraph. I saw your facetious comment to my post from a while back. I am the Big Dog of Australian journalism, and you just pissed on my fire hydrant. The audacity! Joe, if you dare write as much as one more word that even remotely attempts to criticise my astonishing talent, you’ll be joining Mr Thorpe.

My latest victory gives me much hope for November 24. According to the latest left-leaning poll, the Glorious John Winston Howard is really in a pickle. However, I am hoping that on account of the new and ‘funky’ bars that should start popping up as a result of my efforts, all the Leftist, Greenpeace-Loving Sausage Warriors will be drunk at the polls on that fine Saturday morning. As drunkards tend to do, they will vote for the Shooter’s Party, just for a laugh. Hah! Those Leftist, Marxist, university-attending comedians won’t be so smug when they find out where their preferences go!

A glorious plan! Honest John, you have nothing to worry about. Interest rates will not harm you. And with 15 days left, you also have plenty of time to recapture the House. After all, there’s plenty of ocean, there’s plenty of refugees wandering around the place (I have a large family rapidly multiplying on my roof, in fact), and my late uncle Ted willed me a leaky tinny that I’ve been trying to find a use for.

Toodles!
xx Miranda

Golly! You would think that we were slap bang in the middle of an election campaign or something!

There I was, relaxing in my lower north-shore rehab clinic, when all of a sudden who should appear but Mike Bailey! Union official! Communist! Leftist Labor candidate for North Sydney! And what’s more, former ABC weatherman and Kyoto sympathiser!

All these exclaimations had made me nervous, and it was time to return home. With joe Hockey’s face smiling down from every corner on my Toyota Monstrosity, I felt somewhat placated. The election campaign has begun, and it is time for some Miranda Magic to put the smile back on dear old Mr Howard.

Pulling in to my Willoughby mansion, I noticed that my agapanthus looked somewhat neglected. After making a quick phone call to the immigration deparment, who promptly came and deported my gardener, I was ready to unload the contents of my rainwater tank in order to revive the dear plants.

Here’s a handy tip for young players: plumb your mains water straight into a rainwater tank, and you can water your garden 24 hours per day, without any of those pesky greenies bothering (and possibly fatally bashing) you.

Forgive me for being a little North-Shore-centric, but people from the west are scum anyway and I don’t want them reading my column. I would now like to pay homage to one of the greatest names in Australian politics: Marcus Dudley Aussie-Stone. Check out this list of electoral achievments:

• 1972, Lowe (NSW) - lost to Billy McMahon (LP)
• 1973, Parramatta (NSW) - lost to Philip Ruddock (LP)
• 1974, NSW Senate - lost
• 1975, Bass (Tas) - lost to Kevin Newman (LP)
• 1975, Casey (Vic) - lost to Peter Falconer (LP)
• 1975, Cook (NSW) - lost to Don Dobie (LP)
• 1975, Diamond Vally (VIC) - lost to Neil Brown (LP)
• 1975, Henty (VIC) - lost to Ken Aldred (LP)
• 1975, Isaacs (VIC) - lost to David Hamer (LP)
• 1975, Lang (NSW) - lost to Frank Stewart (ALP)
• 1975, Paterson (NSW) - lost to Frank O’Keefe (NCP)
• 1975, Werriwa (NSW) - lost to Gough Whitlam (ALP)
• 1990, Wills (VIC) - lost to Bob Hawke (ALP)
• 1993, Blaxland (NSW) - lost to Paul Keating (ALP)
• 1996, Blaxland (NSW) - lost to Paul Keating (ALP)
• 1996, Blaxland (NSW) - lost to Michael Hatton (ALP)
• 1998, Bennelong (NSW) - lost to John Howard (LP)
• 2005, Werriwa (NSW) - lost to Chris Hayes (ALP)

And that’s just federal politics. Sure, he’s not much of a candidate for the glorious seat of North Sydney, but I will surely be giving my preference to him above the triumvirate of tree huggers: Labor, Greens and Dr Karl!

Speaking of luxurious vehicles, I hope that all of my readers have a chance to test drive the new Hummer H3. It’s not quite as large and magnificent as my Toyota Monstrosity, but the sheer power of the Hummer just makes me go all quivery in the knees. If you’ve got an attractive salesman riding with you, you’d better plan for an extra hour when you take it off-road, if you know what I mean. Glorious!

Anyhow dear readers, it seems that my new sunbed has just arrived. The front lawn is crawling with dirty RTA workers who have blockaded the street in order to hoist my magnificent, clean coal-powered beauty device onto my roof. I must dash.

Toodles!

xx Miranda

Brendan Nelson is a raging spunk of a hunk (Photo: ABC News)

Glorious middle Australians, I apologise for the dearth of words flowing lately from the fountain of righteousness that is my pen. You see, I am now an official member of the Brendan Nelson entourage. I am Miranda Devine, War Correspondent de la droit! It is now my official duty to report the cold hard facts!

Fact number 1: For a fifty-something political swashbuckler, Brendan Nelson is a raging spunk of a hunk. He is quite gallant, I must say! Hubba hubba!

Fact number 2: Back in August, I spent 48 hours touring the world’s anus. It was, as expected, hot, smelly, and full of brown things.

In 48 hours, one can learn a lot of things. I obtained my mathematics degree in a similar timeframe. I plan to cash in on my 48 hours on the ground for the rest of my illustrious journalistic career, until I enter the political fray.

You see, correct and level-headed denizens, I am somewhat of a modern day Wilfred Owen, with the exception that I am more correct than that crusty, warbling old goat could ever have been. There is no “Old Lie”. It IS sweet and glorious to die for one’s country, but let it be heard, O leftist, chardonnay-quaffing Incorrectinistas, that not a single Australian soldier has died since 2002.

Actually, make that since two days ago.

But the point still stands! DULCE ET DECORUM EST, PRO PATRIA MORI!!!

I must be off so that I can recycle and email my next “foreign correspondence”. I am a big fan of the internet. One can report from deepest darkest Turkmexicohyderabadistan, from the comfort of the sunbed. Glorious!

Expect much more ranting from me in the coming 11 weeks. I have an election to influence!

Toodles!!
xx Miranda

This cannot be happening.
Something is wrong here.
The prophecy is incorrect and my gloriously correct view of the world has been thrown into a state of quiet calamity.

Late last week, Greg McCleay was an ordinary Middle Australian. A glorious Middle Australian: the kind of Middle Australian that my weekly Nobel Prize-worthy dissertations exalt on the pedestal of Average. A nice man, with a nice air conditioned house, in a nice street with numerous battleaxes, with nice rhododendrons in the front yard, a magnolia tree out the back. A plasma screen in the living room.

A sunbed on the roof.
(Perhaps not. One does not spend much time basking on sunbeds when they actually have work to do.)

This man was taking his gloriously ordinary self out on a gloriously ordinary outing into the centre of Sydney for some gloriously ordinary yum cha. Sydney cuisine brings a tear to my eye. It is so gloriously ordinary.

Performing an ordinary road crossing, as ordinary Middle Australians are wont to do, Mr McCleay was molested by a squadron of swinish and overeager coppers.

His only crime? An absolutely horrendous Hawaiian shirt.
I would have thoroughly condoned his arrest had it been made on these grounds. But as a discerning legal authority on all things lex legibus legaleagle, I contend that the punishment must fit the crime!

Thinking dissenting thoughts? The death penalty is the only answer.
Being a Muslim? A plague on your house…and a stint in Guantanemo for you!!
Leftism? Try some chemical castration, celeryheads!!!!

But crossing the road? There is clearly no crime here. If Mr McCleay was a Thug of Middle Eastern Descent, it would have been a different story. But this man was only wearing a Hawaiian shirt. There was no towel on his head. There was no hotted-up hoon car or saddled up camel.

This man was an ordinary Middle Australian. Crossing the road.

(Which reminds me of a catastrophically hilarious joke I made up the other day:

What do you call a rubber chicken in a wheelchair crossing the road?
…
Stephen Hawking! HAH!)

Back to the crisis.

I’m not sure what to do about this. If I complain, I’m a raging civil libertarian who should be shot. If I don’t I am effectively condoning attacks on glorious ordinary Australians. I’m all for police brutality, but not when it concerns one of our own! Everybody knows that innocent people don’t need justice!!

The laws MUST protect US From THEM!!!!

I am in a serious pickle at this point in time. I am in quite the lather. There is a hot sweat running down my back. I fear somebody is going to disagree with my standpoint over the last decade, and I’m not going to have a comeback.

But, as a great man once said: “Don’t let a few Asian kids falling off a boat get in the way of a thoroughly correct opinion.” There is no way that I am wrong. I have jettisoned the proverbial Asian kids, and have backed the Miranda Devine vessel of correctness over them. The propellor is chewing them up this minute. We won’t hear from them again. What’s that, leftist scum? You told me so? No, I can’t hear you, I’m too busy backing up my boat.

Never fear, Middle Australia. There is nothing wrong with draconian legislation. The APEC catastrophy of the weekend was clearly a result of police boredom.

In fact, I blame the Muslim thugs from Cronulla from not coming out en masse to stir up trouble and give the police something to do.

See how I did that?

That was good journalism. All is right with the world. I need a stiff drink!!

Toodles!!
xx Miranda

Iraq (Photo: US Army’s Soldiers Media Center)

Listen up, naysayers, civil rights barristers, leftist bananabending cyclists and queer communist sympathisers. For too long you have gorged yourselves at the table of the naive bleeding-hearts, cramming your stomachs full of tofu and kidney beans and celery juice whilst decrying the “problems” with Australia’s involvement in Iraq and poopoo-ing the threat of militaristicist Islamitism.

But guess what? Dinner time is over, you raging leftist incorrectanistas! You’ve quaffed your final cup of organic wine! You’ve squeezed out your last vegan fart! Go back to the kiddie’s table, eat some prime Australian beef and follow it up with a large slice of humble pie!

Miranda Devine has been there and done that in the Middle East!

That’s right, glorious Middle Australians! For the last week or so I have been tramping around the barren countryside of the anus of planet Earth. I penetrated the world’s sphincter amidst sand, dirty sand-dwellers, and some extremely hunky Australian soldiers.

In the extremities, extremism prevails. I would like to think that my presence in Iraq and Afghanistan brought back some of the balance.

Why do I do it, you ask? Why leave the comfortable confines of my lovely McMansion and the hibiscus in the front yard and the sunbed and the Toyota Monstrosity? Why not just go to Bali?

After all, who is going to to feed the immigrants living on the roof?

Like Peter Garrett, all these questions are irrelevant. (For the sake of clarification, there are plenty of possums scurrying across my roof for the immigrants to eat.)

Because the nation needs to be informed. I am the rallying call to all soldiers of the Fellowship of the Completely and Utterly Correct. I am the messenger to the glorious Ordinary Australian, travelling through time, space and the supermarket. I bring the world to you, packaged in a neat and morally digestable parcel.

Because Middle Australia has a right to know.

So know this, leftist cuscus cuddlers - the situation is under control! We have the guns, and we have the surge, and the surge is surging very well. Victory will be ours very soon!

Extremist ideologues will be crushed, stripped naked and sacrified at the altar of average! Mediocrity will be king! The oil will be ours!

Oil? Did I just say oil? I meant… Peace on Earth.

That’s a total lie. Peace is for Peaceniks. OIL FOR ALL MIDDLE AUSTRALIANS!!

Toodles!
xx Miranda

Sydney Bitter - another fine product which went the way of the dodo under Carr

Once again I don my red cap with the gold star and head out into the fold to fight for the people’s rights. Feeling a little like Ernesto Guevara himself, I am greeted by literally thousands of fawning admirers, many of dubious race, creed and sexuality, but like El Che I put that aside and concentrate on the real enemy.

Looming large and shadowy on the horizon, with a finger in every pie and a briefcase full of cash in every state politician’s office, the Australian Hotels Association is doing its utmost to deny Middle Australia their right to enjoy a quiet Pimm’s Cup in a trendy, inner-city cafe. Lesbian dog-owner Clover Moore’s plan to introduce Melbournian-style licencing laws to Sydney was her first and only truly laudable idea, and yet it has been met with a brick wall of resistance, in the form of grey-suited jobs-for-the-boys advocates, who would be more at home taking Kevin Rudd out to Score’s nightclub than bumbling their way over a cocktail menu. These hate-filled hoteliers simply do not appreciate the pleasure that every upper-middle class housewife finds in a small lunchtime tipple, and will do everything they can to ensure that the booze dollars do not stray outside their smoke-filled, tradesman-friendly pubs and clubs.

The shadow minister for smallgoods, George Souris, extracted his tongue from AHA President John Thorpe’s trousers long enough to give this statement:

Sydney can go suck a fat one. Chardonnay is for f*ckwits. It’s beer or nothing in this man’s town.

Well, Mr Thorpe, the people simply aren’t going to stand for this much longer. Sure, drinking Pimm’s and lemonade while perched atop my sunbed is all well and good, but when I have had a hard day’s manicure in the CBD, I want to be able to relax Melbourne-style with a couple of cocktails before heading back north of the bridge in my Toyota Monstrosity. Besides, a couple of drinks relaxes me enough to be able to drive without attempting to run down cyclists, pedestrians, and musicians.

Influential economist (and close friend of mine) Dr John Nieuwenhuysen spent most of his childhood throwing rocks at black kids in Johannesburg, and is therefore the most qualified man in the country when it comes to licencing policy. He single-handedly changed the face of Melbourne, by allowing beauty parlours to serve cocktails as part of their service, reducing the reliance of Victorian housewives on Valium. I spoke to him on the phone last Friday (after half a bottle of Bombay Sapphire):

Mr Thorpe can go suck a fat one. He’s an absolute f*ckwit. It’s not up to him to tell Sydney what they want - that’s my job. Booze for all - except the abbos. They get high enough from petrol as it is.

In conclusion, I would like to blame the whole situation on Bob Carr. What kind of a nancy boy prefers museums to a football game anyway?

Photo by Michela

The staff at Villawood Immigration Detention Centre (glorious guardians of our way of life that they are) continue to dazzle me with their fantastic innovations.

Not content with their ingenious and thrifty measures of encouraging detainees to sew their mouths shut, thus saving Middle Australians tax payer millions of dollars on porridge and toothpaste, these glorious and hardworking saviours of Our Way Of Life have now put 3 silly immigrants on the roof top of the complex. I think this is a capital idea - a truly glorious notion! Clearly, the advantages are numerous:

• An immigrant detained on the roof keeps the gutters clean;
• An immigrant detained on the roof can patch a leaky roof (or, as an interim measure, can sit/lie down over the affected area and provide temporary relief);
• An immigrant detained on the roof can serve one drinks and nibblies whilst one basks on their rooftop sunbed; and most importantly; and
• An immigrant detained on the roof scares away pesky possums en route to destroying one’s precious magnolia tree.

I filed my application to adopt several detainees this morning. My gutters have been shocking as of late.

Marvelous!

I’m considerably outraged right now about the judicial vindication of Mohamed “ALL YOUR BASE ARE BELONG TO US” Haneef by that insipid peddler of character-test garbage: Justice Spender. I’ll tell you something, Spender Queer Charlie Quite Communist QC. You and your band of terrorist sympathising, wig-wearing, chardonnay quaffing legal nincompoops had better climb back onto your red velvet mardi-gras float and row back to where you came from. I’ll give you my “judicial interpretation” of the character test, Justice (Tax Dollar) Spender: Innocent Australians don’t need justice! They need protection from old sausagedogs like you, and terroristic mobile phone users like Dr Mohamed “roflmao cya” Haneef!

Toodles!
xx Miranda

Un-Australian nancy-boys pledging support to Ms Devine

Being an intellectual person who enjoys keeping up with all things intellectual, I just finished reading The Kite Runner. An excellent book. Whoever the fellow was that picked the pen name “Khaled Hosseini” to author this book obviously has a sense of irony that is almost as delicious as Daniel Craig’s loins. No dirty, halal-chowing, towel-headed Afghan with a name like Khaled Hosseini could ever write as fluently as that. Or perhaps Mr Hosseini is simply the translator. I am looking for a good translator. When I release my latest seminal tome: “Muslims: Middle Australia’s Real Mortgage”, I expect to have it translated into 57 languages and published everywhere.

In other news, for the last week I have been championing the cause of chardonnay bars in Sydney. Sydney needs more of these institutions!

As a result, I have been using my tremendous wit and political clout to lampoon that heinous, blue-singletted bograt troglodyte from the Australian Hotels Association, John Thorpe. Fancy telling me where Sydney can and can’t drink. John Thorpe and Peter Garrett should really get married. A hairy, authoritarian woodchopper and a bald, saggy, greenie, pansy rockstar.

I’m not quite sure why I’m advocating same-sex marriage at this time, but this is my column. Identity crises and random self-contradiction are my prerogative.

But WHY am I marching for change in the Sydney pub scene, you ask? An excellent question, Middle Australians. After all, everybody knows that hole-in-the-wall chardonnay bars are little more than fortresses for leftist backslapping, gender-bending vegan cyclist bananabenders and Asian hermaphrodites. Everybody knows that hole-in-the-wall chardonnay bars are little more than orgies for civil rights barristers on their lunch breaks.

More than anything, though, everyone knows that hole in the wall chardonnay bars are far too expensive for ordinary, mortgage-paying, Middle Australians.

However, I, Miranda Esmerelda Diamond Gloriosa Agapantha Devine, have found a way around this.

The second I started ruffling the trollish John Thorpe’s feathers, I have become quite the first lady of the ‘chic’ lefty bar scene in vegan Sydney. I walked past one of those dreadful organic stores in Darlinghurst the other day, and despite the fact that I was wearing my orange latex biochemical suit (Darlinghurst is full of AIDS, one can never be too careful), a friendly homosexual offered me a free carrot and celery smoothie. I took it, somewhat bemused, and tried to avoid catching the clap while drinking it.

I thought the smoothie would be the last of the vegan gravy train, but it wasn’t. Lesbians and students mobbed me all afternoon, offering me free drinks. A chardonnay bar on Oxford Street had a sign out the front: “Miranda Devine, you’re so fine, you can drink free anytime”. And drink I did. I stumbled home at 4am, and awoke with a clobbering headache.

And I didn’t pay a single silver cent for it.

For the last week, my bank account has runneth over, and my stomach hath never been so full of tofu and chardonnay.

All of the great social activists were loathed before they were loved. I am no different. I have clearly struck a chord with the heaving mass of leftist rubble, the grime beneath Middle Australia’s toes. And I am scoring plenty of free booze for my efforts. Remember, there is no better way to infiltrate the enemy than to party with them. The leftists and communists now think I am one of them. Hah! Never! Leftist Inner-City Sydney is Troy, and I am the glorious wooden horse, stealthily rolling in for battle! Soon Oxford Street will be ours!!! Kings Cross will be the next HomeWorld site!

Then we shall dam Redfern and the prophecy will be complete!
Uglúk u bagronk sha pushdug Saruman-glob búbhosh skai!!!!!!!!!

Toodles!
xx Miranda

After the so-called “exoneration” of that kebab-eating, beard-growing, tetanus-injecting Doctor of Death, Mohamed “ROFLCOPTER” Haneef, and his flight from the glorious shores of Middle Australia, all I have to say about the matter is this:

He left because he was guilty.

Thanks to my highly investigative journalism, I believe we can put the Haneef case to bed as a triumph for our glorious government. Hurrah! Take that, Queer Charlie, Quite Communist, Civil Rights Barristers Q.C.!

Unfortunately, while our hummus-consuming friend is basking in his own body odour in darkest, foulest, smelliest India, news in my part of the world is a little slow. However, in the interests of uncovering the evils that peril our glorious lifestyle and ensuring that I continue to be paid a ridiculous salary for writing 1000 words a week, I decided it would be beneficial to write an article about…something that outrages me.

• Aborigines? No. The less said, the better. Particularly with an election coming up.
• Communists? No…I might end up contradicting myself. Besides, I now have the reds that were living under my bed working as a chain gang to pave my driveway. Marvellous! Capitalism in Action!
• Terrorists? Be alert, be alarmed, and fire at will on suspicious-looking Muslims in burqas!!! Oh, but it’s all so old hat right now.

Let’s talk about Pop Trash Pornstars, Middle Australia. You know the ones that I’m talking about. The ones infiltrating the minds of innocent teen girls from Perth to Point Piper.

1. Paris “Hotdog down a Hotel Hallway” Hilton.
2. Lindsay “Loose Lips Pink Tacos” Lohan.
3. Nicole “Something down there feels itchy” Richie.
4. Posh “Pig-nose-prissy-pants” Spice.
5. Germaine “Terrorist” Greer.

To the individuals 1 - 4: you are a menace to society, with your shaven crotches and fast cars and outlandish drinking habits. Quit bikini waxing and get a day job. If you’re going to drive dangerously, only do so in areas populated with persons of colour. To individual no. 5: Quit your day job and get a bikini wax. Or in the very least, consider removing your beard.

The increasing sexualisation of women in our society is somewhat worrying. Not only are young women being portrayed as sex-on-tap supertramps, ready to do the rumpypumpy in the rhododendrons at first opportunity, trollops such as Ms Hilton and Co. are encouraging our young women to become proponents of the stereotype.
Male magazines are loving it. Shorn pubic hair is clogging showers throughout the nation!

Our Middle Australian women are turning into lapdancing labradors, panting and howling for bone!

A tragic, crack-smoking, raging generation of lascivious strippers!!!

I really don’t have a solution for this, but boy, it makes for great filler.

…

Encourage all aboriginal children to read!…

Please excuse me, anyhow. I have a date with Kevin Andrews. We met online. Hubba hubba!

Toodles!!
xx Miranda

Haneef in an online chat room

What on earth is this “QC” business? Every second lawyer with a bit of experience is referring to themselves as a “QC” lately. What in Whitlam’s buggery does QC even stand for? Quite Communist? I think so!

What a load of hogswash and tiddlywinks these learned bookworm intellectual bottomfeeders peddle! Put down your chardonnays and listen up, Queer Charlie barristers of Australia: just because you windbagging blow-your-own-alpenhorn peace-mongers have a law degree and wear a powdered wig, doesn’t mean you’re more correct than me. I’m the one producing literary masterpieces. I’m the one Fairfax publishes.

I’m the one with the mathematics degree! I’m Miranda Esmerelda Diamond Agapantha Gloriosa Devine!

Which of course, makes me an authority on all things legal. I’ll let you in on a little secret, lefty-barrister scum: Laws are there to protect the population. To preserve the glorious Middle Australian, his house, his car, his plasma screen and his magnolia tree. To let him water his lawn without fear of a terrorist attack on his rhododendrons or the Harbour Bridge.

Which is why I propose we scrap the judicial system altogether.

Hearsay is a load of garbage! There is nothing better than an unqualified assertion. Here’s one for you: Kevin Rudd told me that he eats aboriginal babies. Alive! Hah!

I just don’t understand why we’d want to help criminals like Dr Haneef, infesting our children’s internet chatrooms and planning all kinds of voodoo muslim higgledypiggledy, when we can simply trump up the charges and wash our hair of society’s nits!

I propose that we just let that glorious hunk of All-Australian Man-meat, Mick Keelty, sort it out. He is more intelligent than all the barristers in the universe. What’s more, he’s a police officer.

This is a completely infallible proposition, yet again. The Glorious Fellowship of the Completely and Utterly Correct agreed with me completely at last night’s cognac and poker party.

Never fear, Middle Australian readers of glory. Innocent people don’t need justice. Further, be assured that the Howard government has never lied about anything. They are the single most transparent institution this glorious nation of cricketers has ever produced. I can prove it. In fact, while we’re on the topic of chatrooms, I will disclose the contents of an internet chat conversation I had with Alexander Downer a little while back.

Devine69r: Hi Alex you l33t0.

SausagePantsForeignMinisterR0xx0r: Hi. :(:(

Devine69r: LOL LOL LOL! There is nothing like a r3p0rt from the government to silence the howling, homosexual, Rastafarian civil rights rent-a-quote lawyers of the left. Excellent work Alex. u Rock FTW BBQ!

SausagePantsForeignMinisterR0xx0r: Oh but Miranda I’m so worried. IMHO i’m in serious shit right now.

Devine69r: Y????

Devine69r: (btw KKK ftw mthafkr :):P:):PPPP)

SausagePantsForeignMinisterR0xx0r: I forgot to take off my lipstick before parliament. OMFG OMFG OMFG i’mmmm sKreeeewwed.

Devine69r: yo, the electorate may absolutely loathe u, but darling, it has absolutely nothing to with the fact that u dress up in stilettos and fishnet stockings on the weekend. Or that the boys at that leftist club in Kings Cross refer to you as ‘SausagePants’. :)))

Devine69r: srsly.

SausagePantsForeignMinisterR0xx0r: huh?

Devine69r: seriously.

SausagePantsForeignMinisterR0xx0r: oh.

SausagePantsForeignMinisterR0xx0r: r u sure?

Devine69r: yep. ftw mthafkr. omgbbqgrass

SausagePantsForeignMinisterR0xx0r: Thank god 4 that.

SausagePantsForeignMinisterR0xx0r: ….

SausagePantsForeignMinisterR0xx0r: ……….

Devine69r: waaaaaat??????????????

SausagePantsForeignMinisterR0xx0r: What about when I did my Star Spangled Dangled-Doodle Lapdance for Pres Bush? Do they know about that???????

***KevinAndrews{N0-V1sAs-4-CuRRIes} has joined the chatroom.***

KevinAndrews{N0-V1sAs-4-CuRRIes}: WTF?Hellooooooo??????

Devine69r: Nothing has been found out about you.

SausagePantsForeignMinisterR0xx0r: Sure?

Devine69r: Nothing has been found out about you.

SausagePantsForeignMinisterR0xx0r: K.

KevinAndrews{N0-V1sAs-4-CuRRIes}: WTF? Who’s SausagePantsForeignMinisterR0xx0r??????

Devine69r: Uh….it’s Mohamed Haneef.

KevinAndrews{N0-V1sAs-4-CuRRIes}: k. Kewl. bye.

***KevinAndrews{N0-V1sAs-4-CuRRIes} has left the chatroom.***

Devine69r: LOL kbai.

SausagePantsForeignMinisterR0xx0r: hahahaha. bi…..

SausagePantsForeignMinisterR0xx0r: ………sexual. :P:P:P:

Devine69r: LOLOOLOLOL ROFL ROFL OMG. gnite.

Barristers, go jump off a short pier and take your bleating leftist followers with you. Due process is for dolebludgers, fags, and aborigines!!!!!!!!!!!! Why wait in line when you can drive straight over the top of it?

Toodles!

xx Miranda