Atavism for the people

My Imperial British ancestry just kicked in. So I went down to the harbour this morning, and rowed over to the Prime Minister's Kirribilli residence. When I got there I planted my flag.

One of the natives - a small, compact creature with bushy eyebrows - came bustling over. "Hola, noble savage!" I said. "I brought you the benefits of civilisation and progress. Here, have some flour."

"Get off my land!" yelled the native. "You're trespassing!"

"Squatting," I corrected him, "and according to these here squatter's rights, it's MY land now."

The brute brushed aside a copy of the Constitution I'd written. He seemed quite agitated about something, in his quaint primitive way. "I'm calling the police!" he shouted. "What the HELL d'you think you're doing?"

"Creation of a nation," I said cheerfully. "I think I'll call it FunLand, or maybe Piss Weak World. Wouldn't you like this nice blanket?"

All of a sudden there was a flood of urchins from the house. They swarmed around their father. "Say, are those your kids?" I asked. "Aren't they just gorgeous? Come along with us, little ones." I had my men lead the savage's children away.

"WHERE ARE YOU TAKING THEM?" he howled, bestial in his confusion. "They're going to a place where they'll be MUCH better off," I said. "We'll teach them our religion and bring them up as one of us."

Then he started getting violent, so I had him shot.

Wednesday May 21, 1997. For a change, there's a nice article in the SMH: Embarrassing report just won't stay under the carpet.
Raze | Re Raze | Pre Raze