MirandaDevine.com

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:

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

Finally, that raging leftist lesbian nanny-goat of doom, Lord Mayor Clover “eating the sheets off the washing line because I’m an urban leftist bong smoker” Moore has gotten something right. Her anti-terror go bag is truly an ingenious proposition. I now have a Go Bag all packed and sitting in the back of the Toyota Monstrosity, ready to go when the towelheads finally do what all of correct-minded Middle Australia has known for so long that they’re going to do – commit a terrorist attack.

Even that ruddy-faced nerd-herder, Kevin Rudd, is in agreement. Not to give credence to anyone’s opinion who sits to the left of Tony Abbott, but honestly, if that homosexual midget sympathiser agrees, then anyone who doesn’t must be loopy, or chatterbox civil rights lawyers.

For the benefit of my informed Middle Australian readers, I thought I would espouse the contents of my go bag. I’m not sure if ‘espoused’ is the right word to use there, but I’m the correct one around here.

Miranda Esmerelda Diamond Gloriosa Devine’s Anti-Terrorism Go Bag.

1. Shotgun with plenty of ammunition, sawn-off for maximum collateral damage;
2. Bio-chemical suit, in case contact with leftists is required to engage in peace treaties;
3. Mathematics degree transcript, in case anybody questions my authority or intelligence during time of chaos;
4. Tins of baked beans, kidney beans and chick peas for sustenance while hiding in bomb shelters;
5. Box of matches, because lighting farts in bomb shelters after consuming legumes is the best entertainment money can’t buy;
6. Plasma screen television to keep up to date with latest developments;
7. Sri Lankan Immigrant pedal-powered electricity generator, to power said plasma screen television;
8. Life size picture of Daniel Craig (hubba hubba);
9. Aboriginal house slaves; and
10. Sudoku and colouring books for when I get bored.

Superb. The only issue that concerned me is where I was going to “Go” once I had my “Go Bag” all packed, but being the genius that I am, I solved that one quick smart. I currently have several immigrants building me a bomb shelter in the back yard. Glorious. I will hole myself up there and fight until the death! No lawyers allowed in! I will never be taken alive, muslim doctors with terroristic tendencies!!!!!

After all – so many history’s greatest died valiantly in bomb shelters, didn’t they? Yes, they did.

Toodles!!
xx Miranda

Haneef meets with his idol and mentor, Osama Bin Laden

Mohammed Haneef, or “Doctor Darkie” as some sections of the media are calling him, was let loose on an unsuspecting Brisbane community earlier this week. The man who (allegedly) wilfully provided material support to cold-blooded terrorist would-be murderers is now free to hand out sim cards to every bag-of-fertiliser-wielding towel-head that he meets.

Or is he? Thankfully, our Allah-loving friend has been carted off to Villawood, to rot away until we can find a leaky boat to ship him back to India in.

But meanwhile, the Australian Government is carrying out the biggest piece of hypocrisy since Peter Garret joined the Labor party. Despite our glorious new anti-terror laws, one government department is daily providing material support to thousands of terrorists, terrorist sympathisers, anti-establishmentarianists and vegan lesbians. Millions of taxpayer dollars are flowing into the coffers of the very same people who are plotting the next attack on Middle Australia. One man may be on the road to deportation, but even as I write this another hundred are getting one step closer to securing funding for their dubious activities from the Commonwealth of Australia.

You all know what I’m talking about.

Centrelink. That bastion of working single mothers, unshaven lesbians and Greens voters has been handing out dole cheques left, right and centre to Australia’s answer to the Untouchables. Bankstown, Lakemba and Liverpool offices are jammed full with towel-heads, waiting to get their fortnightly supply of lighter fluid, felafel and printer ink for their anti-capitalist propoganda.

As I perch atop my sunbed, looking out over the grey winter skies, I can only blame the current climate of fear that is being inflicted upon Middle Australia on one thing: Kevin Rudd!

Mr Rudd, through his cynical devotion to Western Sydney minority group, has made it impossible for Howard to carry out the one task that will enable Middle Australia to march on through the 21st century without out children being afraid to step outdoors. The banishment of all Islamic citizens from Australia!

What we need is a bipartisan approach to this problem. If Rudd would stop protecting his heartland, we could get on with the job of branding all the Muslim scum with a giant “M” on their foreheads. A special militia, consisting entirely of north shore rugby teams, could then be enlisted to drop kick these dissidents back on to the leaky boats from whence they came. Sayonnara!

And while we’re at it, let’s fix the Redfern problem by deporting all the Abbos too. Terra nullius, mate!

Ladies and gentlemen, I knew they would finally see it my way!

It appears I have a Facebook fansite!!! Glorious. What’s more, the membership consists solely of leftist, raging homosexual banana-bending arts students who have taken the time out of their pilates regime to read my articles and finally see the light. They have even posted my picture. I love that photo. It makes me look extremely knowledgeable.

This is absolutely glorious news: I am absolutely thrilled to be touching the hearts of so many of society’s outcasts (students). I hope that VSU is thoroughly destroying your university experience, but that you learn one thing: education is a waste of time, you are better off investing in property and renovating houses using cheap Ikea furnishings.

In other news, I wrote a comprehensive review of that subversive piece of backpacker-glorifying horror on Saturday afternoon, Hostel Part II, and posted it on my Sunday column. Apparently, it is truly an assault on Middle Australian values, such as the right not to travel to locations other than Bali.

There are no intelligent Australians in Eastern Europe, only communist sympathisers.

From what I have heard, Hostel Part II is extremely violent, features nudity, and shows lots of students being chopped to pieces. While the first two elements shock me to the core, the last part is really quite a titillating prospect.

But honestly, I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen the movie yet.

Toodles!!
xx Miranda

BIke Riding Vegan Lesbian’s Toilet (source: Jared and Corin)

Every now and then I climb off the pedestal and engage in some serious investigative journalism. Not that I really need to – from up here, in the company of the literary greats, I can spot the bike riding vegan lesbians as they engage in their day-to-day banana-bending scandals.

I am like a hawk.

With my keen eyes I zero in and divebomb the leftist mouse as it cowers under the canopy of the rainforest. I eliminate it with my talons of doom, fashioned from one-sentence paragraphs. My beak hides a sharp tongue of wit and womanly wiles. I am too fast for you, leftist scum. I am Miranda Devine, travelling through time, space and the supermarket at the speed of Ordinary Australian.

I have just returned from a cruise, which I took to celebrate the incarceration of that walking 7-11 store, Paris Hilton (she’s always open for business). I hope they feed her hotdogs in jail. After all, pretty much everyone else has tossed their “hotdog” down her ever-widening “hallway”.

Hideous!

My cruise took me to the deepest darkest Pacific, where I exploited the Islanders for all of their natural resources, and got hammered on some superb coconut-based cocktails. It was like Redfern, except the darkies were surrounded by water (as they should be), with absolutely zero opportunity for them to invade my territory. To expand my world view (as if it needed expanding anyway!) I read a book about the genocides in Darfur whilst I sat on the beach and sunned myself.

All very troubling, but honestly, Middle Australia, let’s talk about the real problems in the world.

Toilets.

The S-bend dilemma has troubled our nation ever since those pesky politicians canned my excellent dam idea. For your benefit, I will elaborate.

Quite recently, I had a Frenchman by the name of Jean-Pierre billeted to my house. You see, I have a scheme going on where I open up my house to Europeans, find out whether they have communist tendencies, and then dob them into the authorities as terrorists.

I’m just doing my bit for the community. No need to thank me, I am a committed global citizen.

At around the same time, I had a new toilet installed at my pied-a-terre, having utterly obliterated the last one after a night on the sauce with Gerard Henderson and some seriously spoiled doner kebabs. According to the leftist plumber bureaucrat from the Water Board, apparently my trusty 20-litre-per-flush-with-foaming-soap-rectum-jets model had been rendered illegal. I attempted to procure a replacement from Dubai, but it was seized by Customs.

A tragedy!

Those raving union member plumbers infiltrated my bathroom and installed some rubbish water-saving toilet, complete with a worm farm out the back to eat all the poo. How bio-dynamic! How earth-saving! Nyeeeerrrrr!!!

Hah!

Back to Jean-Pierre. Although European and sporting a sixpack and a lovely south-of-France tan, the man was not a communist. In an attempt to secure a conviction, I started feeding him beetroot, strawberries and red kidney beans, hoping that the colour of the food would betray his true communist tendencies. It didn’t work, but he clearly ingested too much fibre. To my glorious peril, unfortunately.

Jean-Pierre sat on my toilet for two days, screaming “Merde!!!” and unleashing a thunderous cacophony of biohazardous waste. Somewhat disturbed, I moved out of my place, and spent the week on John Law’s couch. When I ventured to return, Jean-Pierre had split like the communist I knew he was. However, my toilet was flooded. My bathroom floor was steaming nightmare. There was water everywhere. I vomited out the window and nailed a passing Aborigine.

In conclusion, we need to restore order. Bring back a toilet that actually flushes. SCRUNCHERS, UNITE! Build more dams! Cuscusses, make way!!!!!!!

Toodles!
xx Miranda

Hold on to your hairpieces: I’m back! That’s right – I, Miranda Esmerelda Gloriosa Diamond Agapantha Devine, have returned from my self-imposed exile from the world of the internet.

For the past month or so I have been involved in one of the most exciting, intense, undercover investigative journalism investigations since Ray Martin’s heroic investigation of Shane Paxton’s garbage. That’s right – I, Miranda Esmerelda Gloriosa Diamond Agapantha Devine, have been undercover at the ABC.

That bastion of gay aboriginal leprechauns has long been accused of bias – whether it be Maxine McKew attempting to bring down capitalism, or Mike Bailey delivering his subversive weather reports, the ABC has long been jam-packed with the lowest form of life – so-called “small-l” liberals.

How dare they call themselves that? Taking the name of the greatest political party this country has ever seen – and insinuating that the word “Liberal” somehow translates to promoting the plague-like spread of multiculturalism, homosexuality and dog-ownership? Any true Liberal would clamp down on this misuse of the glorious English language, as sanctioned by the very fine Macquarie Dictionary, and imprison these self-proclaimed “small-ls” until they learn to use the shift key.

Anyway, let’s get back to my highly courageous mission to infiltrate the ABC.

One night I sat on my rooftop, soaking up some rays from my personal coal-fired water-cooled luxury sunbed, and basking in my perpetual glory. As my fifth Pimms №1 was settling nicely into my stomach, I realised that the only way to expose the ABC for the comrade-ridden hell hole that it has become was to disguise myself as one of them.

But who? And how would I pull it off?

Acting was never my forte. I excelled in the arena of debating, as I only debated people who agreed with me. My journalism skills are second to none. But on the stage, I simply don’t belong. Leave that to the experts (Daniel Craig) and the bilious left.

The bilious left.

Of course! The key thing to remember about lefties is that they are stupid! That’s why they’re all unemployed, unwashed, unmarried bums!

So my plan then, was to march into the ABC, demanding that they give me evidence that they are biased. Lacking the wits to cover up their glaring penchant for the hammer and sickle, they would break down and turn to the glorious righteousness that is I, Miranda Esmerelda Gloriosa Diamond Agapantha Devine.

Miranda Esmerelda Gloriosa Diamond Agapantha Devine. It’s a good name, isn’t it?

To cut a long story short, climate change is a steaming pile of Kim Beazley’s steak and kidney pie. My assault on ABC headquarters in Ultimo has resulted in the belated broadcast of the greatest piece of science since Newton’s Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica – The Great Global Warming Swindle.

As Patrick Moore says: the failure of world communism, combined with the Wall coming down, released a lot of peaceniks and political activists into the environmental movement. These neo-Marxists have singlehandedly caused the hole in the ozone layer, the 9/11 attacks, and the death of Slim Dusty.

Bring on la niña, and Middle Australia can go back to worrying about reds under the bed.

Stephen Hawking in full flight.

I awoke this morning to the absolutely glorious news that they decided to launch that raging scientific know-it-all, Stephen Hawking, into space. I was extremely pleased because with him out of the way, I could finally take my rightful position as the world’s leading authority on gravity and black holes.

That’s correct, glorious denizens of Middle Australia, my mathematics degree allows me to derive all scientific knowledge from first principles to at least 3 significant figures. But I don’t understand why they’d pay some demented, knobbled old cabbage (in the vegetative sense of the word) like Hawking a truckload of cash to act the goat in the glorious Isaac Newton’s former position. Why didn’t they give me the position? I am appalled at how they give professors “chairs” at universities. Not only does it encourage the spawning of leftist backslapping Peter “Gollum” Garrett-intellectual types, but the odious Hawking spends all of his time in his own chair and it’s not like he can just stand up, walk around the room and go sit in another one. Hawking’s chair, I should also add, has the added benefit of having wheels on it. Honestly, those leftist intellectual bureaucrats should give the chair to someone like me, who spends plenty of time actually walking around, not lazing around like a shrivelled potato ranting about alien life through a postmodern mechanical noisebox device! I would, of course, provide a thoroughly pragmatic and realistic view of the world, as I always do.

Ugh. A hideous, odeous creature. Somebody hit him with a tennis racquet and watch him turn into scientific spaghetti.

I don’t know what all the scientists are getting their knickers in knots about about the so-called “Great Unknown”. I am expert on black holes. Why, right here in glorious Middle Sydney we have our own Black Hole – it’s called Redfern. And why is there a kerfuffel about how these black holes are created? The answer is simple, Middle Australia. Black Holes are created by irresponsible, overly-compassionate Labor Governments throwing dole money at bludgers who spend it on grog, tie-dyed t-shirts and building youth outreach centres!

Black Holes are a problem and should be banned. Hmmph. Not under this bland, nancyboy state government they won’t.

Anti-Gravity? I can explain that too. Ever farted in a bath, Middle Australia? Why don’t the bubbles sink? The answer is simple: anti-gravity. Duh. It also explains why leftists spend so much time with their heads in the clouds.

But as they launched Hawking, that smartie-pants, corpse-like, rubber-chicken-with-a-big-brain-attached into space, I was dismayed to discover that what goes up, must come down. To my disappointment, he was returned a mere few hours later. Apparently it was just a practice run before they toss him up in the air next year with the delicious (hubba hubba, but slightly too pinko for me) Richard Branson and his Virgin Intergalactic Space Mission of Glory.

But all this space travel gobbledygook caused my cerebral cogs of Devine genius to whiz and whir and formulate an infallible plan. I will be presenting my ideas to the (Glorious) Fellowship of the Completely and Utterly Correct (which, might I add, was incorporated in the Cayman Islands last week, so Gerard Henderson and I are enjoying some glorious tax breaks) at the next wine and cheese & world-takeover meeting. My plan is as follows:

The (Glorious) Fellowship of the Completely and Utterly Correct will lease a spaceship from Richard Branson, funded by the Liberal Party’s defense budget and Rupert Murdoch. We will then, sneakily, offer a free ride into outer space to all lesbians, Queenslanders, vegans, cyclists, queer sausagedogs, lephrechauns, midgets, students, boat people, Paul Keating, members of the Labor Party, volunteers at Barnardos for Kids, Sandra K Eckersley from Marrickville, Peter “Gollum” Garrett and anyone who disagrees with me. It won’t put even the smallest dent in their dole cheque.

But this will be no Stephen Hawking joy ride. It will be destination Planet Zod, with no possibility of return! Hah!

Middle Australia, stick with me and we will take out the garbage, intergalactic style! Glorious Middle Australia will be rid of the toe-sucking scum of society, while those hideous sympathy-peddling creatures of shame can get Naked on Neptune, Pinko on Pluto, and Communist with the Comets!

Toodles!
xx Miranda

Peter Garrett

Many a genius has been forced to endure a lifetime of endless criticism, dagger eyes and janus faced backstabbing. Like Leo Tolstoy, Victor Hugo and the publishers at Harlequin Mills and Boon, I too have been forced to accept the fact that I will forever be reviled by those who are not as correct as me. Ugh.

Yet, along with my literary kin, I know that my name will endure. I, Miranda Esmerelda Diamond Agapantha Devine, will go down as one of the greats. The howling vegan lesbian wolves of the Left will sink into the ephemeral morass of forgotten humanity while I rise above the smelly heap. My command of grammar is second to none. My vocabulary is a beam of joyous guiding light, streaming from the heavens to the triumphant choralling of righteous angels.

I am a better driver than people in small vehicles.

I am.
Miranda Devine.

As we enter a brave new world of leftist backslapping, rising interest rates and the (slim) possibility that John Howard might lose an election, I must stand strong. I must continue my crusade against the environmentalists, the bureaucrats, vegetarian cus cus huggers and those who believe in social justice. I must continue to guide Middle Australia on Thursdays and Sundays with my words of wisdom.

But I know I cannot do this alone. I must surround myself with those of comparable genius. We must form a Circle of Power. A Fellowship of the Completely and Utterly Correct. One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them.

Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul!

Oops. I went into a trance just then and started speaking Tolkien orcish black speech (as distinct from Aboriginal black speak, which is far more evil). It must be the gin talking. It does funny things when I inspire myself. GYAH! What am I doing!? That hideous Frodo was the queerest little postmodern bisexual leprechaun that fiction has ever produced! Ugh. Apologies, Middle Australia. I won’t let that happen again.

My Council of Power. Yes. It will be truly glorious. We will have some truly super wine tastings. I have already enlisted Gerard Henderson, Janet Albrechtsen, Michael Stanbridge of Bonnet Bay and most of Quadrant Magazine’s readership. We will flourish under the Eye of John Winston Howard. We will command a great army of Willie Masons to protect us.

Oh yes, that was the point of this article. Willie Mason. Why are people constantly vilifying him? He’s not all that bad, really. He’s like a big, oafish teddy bear. He visits kids in hospitals. He checks under his bed every night to make sure there’s no alligators or monsters. I don’t see why that’s any kind of problem – I check under my bed every night to make sure there’s no peace activists or Sri Lankan boatpeople hiding under there – don’t you idiots remember the Reds Under The Bed!? They’re still there, Middle Australia. Actually, that was a total lie. the real reason I check under the bed is because, for the life of me, I simply can’t remember where I stashed that last bottle of Pimms. Perhaps the dirty boatpeople drank it. They all become alcoholics when they get here, anyway.

That’s enough about Willie Mason. Back to me, and my plan. Willie Mason will be cloned and make up our army of spawned grunts providing the muscle to do battle with the students wearing tie-dyed shirts. I will carry the flame. I will take the good fight all the way to the fires of Mt Doom. And I will not let that bald and raving leftist, Peter “Gollum” Garrett ruin the party! Cucumber sandwiches for all!!!

Toodles!
xx Miranda

Glorious Kate Middleton, taken from the spotlight too soon.

Did I also mention that I am a master chef? That’s correct Middle Australians, you can check off another box on the ‘Miranda Devine is Truly Glorious’ checklist on your refrigerators next to your superbly informative ASIO FridgeMagnets. Being a superb mathematician, I like to derive things from first principles, and ergo I am one of the best scratch cooks you will ever have the privilege of agreeing with.

I don’t bother cooking any of that foul falafel business. Bratwurst is for Nazi Germans! French Cuisine is for Cheese Eating Surrender Monkey Liberal Lesbians with hairy armpits!

That’s right, readers, I, Miranda Esmerelda Diamond Agapantha Devine only cook one type of cuisine: The Glorious Food of the Motherland.

British Cuisine!

Delicious. A big fat banger with some mash on the side makes me go positively ga-ga. Besides, whenever I cook Anglais-style, the smell of bubble and squeak makes me think of one man. Daniel Craig.

Hubba hubba!

Here in Glorious Middle Australia, I get the best of both worlds. Not only do I get to eat glorious English food, I get to live in a country that is actually experiencing a net outflow of those dirty Indians with their vile curries. Hah! Did I mention that I enjoy year-round sunshine, and have recently installed an outdoor airconditioner for my rooftop sunbed. Life is grand right here. You don’t get that in England.

Also, I am sheltered from the kind of tabloidal fingerpointing journalism that is common in England. It truly makes me feel sick. In fact, at the thought of that, I think I am going to chunder out the window all over that aboriginal hobo sleeping on my doorstep.

Superb! The second shower that smelly old fellow has had in years!

Where was I? That’s right. I am disgusted by the way the English Press vilifies some people. I only vilify people at the fringes who deserve it anyway (Banana bending vegan cyclists, gay sausagedogs, civil rights barristers, immigrants, teenagers, arts students, the Teletubbies, the Labor Party, Left Wingers, Queenslanders and anyone who disagrees with me, I’m looking at you).

Those hideous bad-toothed “journalist” gits over in England have been getting into the gloriously ordinary Kate Middleton about her ordinariness. Let me tell you Kate, if you ever get sick of those toffs with their halitosis, bulldog-shaped mothers and white skin, come over here. Here in Middle Australia, we enjoy a Middle Class Meritocracy. Anyone who wants a plasma screen TV can get one, and once that have it, bugger everyone else. Stragglers, vegans and hangers-on end up in Guantanamo Bay. I think this is a fantastic system. Kate, if you haven’t gotten a plasma screen yet, you are probably not doing enough to exclude others, or assert your rights. You need to think about yourself a little more. Spend less time skiiing in Switzerland with the royals and more time saving for a home deposit.

You should also note, however, that shacking up with a man while unmarried is a bad move. It is the ultimate in sin. Shacking up with a guy before marriage is only one step away from donating to Barnardos for Kids.

We don’t do that in Middle Australia. Here in Middle Australia, people remain single until at least 16 years old. If you want to shag guys, you need to get married early, move to Kellyville, purchase a big screen TV and start breeding as soon as possible. There are some superb houses out there, and mortgages are freely available. You should consider it, Kate. Nobody will hassle you for calling a toilet a toilet. There won’t be any silly toffs saying “doors to manual”. It will be glorious.

Toodles!
xx Miranda