Barrier Reef Foundation........is it a parachute?
One of the grinning conjurers favorite tricks is making his audience look elsewhere while he deftly pulls a surprise out of his you-know-what.
Instead of looking carefully at the quick $440 Million slipped quietly into an almost invisible entity, we've all got our knickers in a twist over the kerfuffle in the Government.
When Ms Gillard sensed she was about to get the heave ho, she slipped a quick $300 Million into the Clinton Foundation and now appears to be living happily ever after.
My bullshit meter tells me things aren't quite what they seem, not quite Kosher.
The Barrier Reef is going to continue to look the same, $440 Million of the Taxpayers hard earned will vanish without trace, while drought stricken farmers are eating sheep heads.
LODGE DINNER MAL’S LAST SUPPER
LARRY PICKERING Sun 19 Aug 2018 11:00:22 am 348 COMMENTS
On Mal’s reckoning he has already returned once, but there is no theological evidence that sumbugger can return twice, let alone thrice. Pontius Pilate Pyne had washed his hands of the mess and Abbott had Peter in a corner explaining that before the cock crows he will have denied Mal thrice.
It was now early morning at The Lodge and dawn was about to break over the War Memorial. A silence had settled over the inebriated guests as they anticipated the cock’s crowing, when Peter unexpectedly stood and said to Mal, “Mal, we all reckon you are a treacherous bastard!” Peter sat down unsteadily and sculled another goblet of Margaret River merlo.
“Don’t worry, Pet”, said Lucy placing a hand on the withered member for Wentworth, “that’s only once”.
The Stick Insect was busy plying black coffee into everyone as expectant stares again settled on Peter who was polishing off yet another goblet of merlot. This time he climbed on his stool with Abbott and Kelly holding one leg each. “You’ve let us all down, you shees of pit, and now it’s you, not the Party, who’s going to get hung out to dry.”
It was a shocking denial of their leader and white faces watched Peter fall to the floor unconscious as Abbott began desperately applying CPR. “There’ll be no thrice denial now”, whispered Lucy who was still reassuringly massaging the Wentworth member”.
But Peter opened one eye, “Get me up fellas, we need to binish this fastard for good!
“There will be no third coming for you”, he yelled pointing a half-eaten pheasant bone at the Wentworth member. The Stick Insect was wailing, muttering stuff about a UN posting… but it was over, the cock hadn’t crowed, and Peter had dumped on Mal thrice.
Guests were crunching the frost on the lawns as they departed the Party in a Canberran sub zero mist. Somewhere from the other side of Mount Ainslie a rooster could be heard crowing.
A large vehicle was blistering down Adelaide Avenue, it was little Kevin Andrews driving a huge cement truck. He skidded to a stop and jumped down from the cab. “I’ve reserved a tomb for him at the ANU and this time I’m concreting the damned rock into the entrance myself. Not even Jesus Christ will get out this time.”
“We’d better not be too long with him up at Golgotha”, said Abbott...
“This cement is the perfect consistency.”
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