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About this blog:
This is the place for the real Mark Latham; the Mark Latham who toiled his clacker off in grinding poverty to become dux of his school; the Mark Latham who built his own ladder of opportunity, then scaled it himself with buggerall help from anybody else (er, except full-on legend and mentor Gough Whitlam - Dad, I love ya!); the Mark Latham who is mad as hell, and isn't gonna take it anymore - particularly from the Yanks and their pop-cultural, celluloid imperialism!
So, to all my readers from all over the joint: If you want to know the watered-down, official, media-friendly "Latham Lite" then watch me on the box, read about me in the press, go to the ALP website, etc. But if you want to know what I'm really thinking and feeling then keep coming back here, alright?
And please give a few bob if you can spare it. (It's for the ducks, not me.)
Chicks are forever hurling themselves at me (did you know Rachel Ward has a shrine to me in her bedroom?). But if you're not so lucky with the opposite sex, you might want to have a squizz at the sites below. For every sign-up, an orphaned duck finds a new home.
Aussie Matchmaker
Lavalife
Adult Matchmaker
Guys and Babes
Sexyads
Megafriends
Matchdoctor
Adult Matchdoctor
New Friends 4U
Here are some other sites you might want to have a perve at:
Lest any Tory bastard say that because I'm a socialist I'm entirely against earning a few extra bob, here's a link to the world's largest online classified ad service.
Below is a Seppo outfit. (But it's not bad, apparently.)
Click here to buy posters! (You never know. They might even have one of me!)
Are you majorly shat off about something? Chockas with existential angst? Or do you just want to talk to someone you know cares big time? Then send your "Dear Mark" letter to: arselicker-kicker at loveable.com (Donations are not mandatory, but they are appreciated.)

Remember that duck guy I was telling you about? Yeah, well, he's asked me to put a list of traffic exchanges up on my blog.
The bloke's a bit of a dipstick, but considering all the good work he's done for my beaky brothers, I said yes.
Here they are:
Traffic Swarm
Web Biz Insider
Clicks Matrix Traffic Project Clickin' Fingers Pro Hits Plus Stock Traffic Funny Farm Traffic Hit Safari Traffic Roundup
Weblog Directory - Directory of blogs from all around the world.
Click here to make money doing online surveys!
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| Suss, alright! |
| 02.26.04 (7:12 pm) [edit] |
Fair dinkum, readers, I'm shitting bricks. Now I know for sure I wasn't being paranoid in that last post.
See, someone really is out to get me. Maybe the Arselicker is in on it, but I think there's someone even more powerful pulling the strings.
Remember that jibe I made about Dubya? You know, about him being "flaky and dangerous"? Well I've certainly forgotten it, but I don't think he has.
I know this sounds outrageous, but I'm pretty sure he's got me marked for death. Why do I reckon this? Well, while I was waiting for the plane back to Oz this very plausible sounding Yank businessman sits dwon next to me, and starts chatting. Didn't know who I was; didn't talk politics or anything. Was quacking on about all his business interests. I half expected him to start trying to sell me bloody Amway! I was annoyed, but also a tad spooked. There was just something a bit too glib and conversational about the bastard, you know?
My suspicions were confirmed when he broke out a box of the finest Cuban cigars. And he offered me one.
There was no doubt. This had all the hallmarks of the CIA.
Of course, I politely declined. He left and caught another plane, thank fuck.
Clearly Dubya's got it in for me for political reasons. But I think there's some very deep personal animosity at work there as well.
See, while on the flight I got one of my assistants to do a little research. Uncovered something very interesting: You know what Dubya's favourite TV show of all time is? The Thorn Birds.
I'll say no more.
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| Something pretty bloody suss... |
| 02.26.04 (4:39 am) [edit] |
Not so long ago I was on top of the world. After all, Rachel Ward was telling everyone she was hanging out to play hide the sausage with me. What red-blooded Aussie bloke wouldn't be?
I was also feeling pretty fucking honoured to be heading to PNG, considering Dad had so much to do with helping that bonzer little nation find its feet and all.
I was pumped, no doubt about it.
But now, I'm not feeling so great. Bloody jet broke down didn't it?
Normally, I'd do a Derryn and say, "Ah, fuck it. That's life." But now I'm not so sure. I'm starting to think that maybe there's something rotten in the state of Port Moresby (or at least the airport part of it).
I know what you're saying: "Oh, fuck. Get your hand off it, Mark!"
But think about it:
I've just been elected Leader of the Opposition. I'm a monster hit with the public generally, and definitely a favourite with the sheilas (did I mention that Rachel Ward wants to have my baby?). I've made the Arselicker eat major crow with super, and I've courageously whopped the Bloke Crisis right into the middle of the media spotlight. Quite frankly I've made those Tories look like the barkers' eggs they truly are: old, white and desiccated.
Surely I've made some serious enemies. People who would like to see me injured - or even... dead?
Of course, maybe it was all just bad luck. And I'm just being paranoid. But have you ever heard of the Arselicker copping such misfortune?
No, of course not.
Anyway, I won't linger on these thoughts of conspiracy any longer. That's the kind of thing a Seppo would do.
I'll just say I'm just damn glad I wasn't in the air when the plane carked.
Frankly, it's not worth pondering any longer. I'll just catch the commerical flight as planned. And have a nice nap on the way home...
Still, I can't help thinking: is the Arselicker a fan of Rachel Ward?
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| I'm a fucking star! |
| 02.24.04 (7:29 pm) [edit] |
Hey, remember when I said that politics was "showbiz for ugly people"? Well, here's a bit of a bloody corollary to that:
See, because of my efforts showbiz is now politics for beautiful people (well, actually just one, Rachel Ward - but she's extremely fucking beautiful!). And the politics is very, very sexual!
Yep, she's clearly got the hots for me, this babe. Majorly turned on by my policies, she is. Read all about it!
Cop on optic of this bit:
Call me a romantic, a pushover, a slut even, to be turned on by this "fusillade of cliches" (to use Alexander Downer's phrase) from Mark Latham. But that's the sort of pillow-talk that really turns us community-minded folk on big time. And anyone who says different is just jealous they couldn't pull off an orgy of collective orgasms from their own National Press Club speeches.
Fucking hell.
And this:
... at the moment, I'm in love with Latham. Because he isn't afraid of being called "soft".
Yeah, well, that's certainly true. But I'm not feeling too "soft" at the moment, Rachel, I can assure you!
I tell you, that angst I was talking about? Fucked right off, hasn't it.
Thanks heaps, Rachie-babe. You've cheered me up immensely. It may seem ironic to say this, but I am certainly flipping and flopping today. (Well, part of my anatomy is, if you get my drift. Any guesses which part. Eh? Eh? EH?)
Wait till I get back to the party room and tell all the other blokes about this one!
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| Identity crisis revisited |
| 02.23.04 (6:24 pm) [edit] |
Fair dinkum, I never thought I'd be agreeing with one of the conga line - especially its most nancy-ish and ponce-arian. But quite frankly I've got to say that Lexie Downer might just be on to something.
Like he's just said:
"I think the greatest problem so far with Mark Latham is that it's hard to know what he's about. He lacks consistency. The great leaders of Australia, people like on the Labor side someone like Whitlam, or on our side Menzies, are people who really stand for things and believe in things and fight an argument for those things. In Mark Latham's case he has a different position every day, sometimes on the same issue. I find him very inconsistent and intellectually his policy positions are often quite incoherent."
Fuck, that's exactly what I've been thinking lately. I mean, I am a complex bastard - we all know that. But I think I've been trying to be just a tad too complex lately. See, part of that whole counter-intuitive approach was to bamboozle the Arselicker - you know, really wrongfoot the cunt. And it worked.
But I think I might have overdone it. Maybe this is what caused the identity crisis I've been having lately? In trying so bloody hard to put the wind up the Government, I've put the wind up myself!
I'm so lost... It's like I'm... floating.
Who the fuck am I?
What does it all mean?
Shit, but I feel nauseous - big time.
This existential angst shit is not much fucking fun I can assure you.
Still, I'll just have to suck it all up and put on a brave face for the cameras - as per usual.
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| Slow Joe has a go |
| 02.20.04 (7:11 pm) [edit] |
While Nancy boy Nelson flip-flops towards my policies, another conga line member remains true to the Liberal, er, "vision".
Slow Joe Hockey went on [i]Lateline [/i] and had this to say:
"Everything about Labor policy so far under Mark Latham is about more government involvement in peoples' lives and if you look at it he's saying he wants to regulate the family, he wants to regulate parenting."
Hey Slow Joe: I don't want to "regulate" anything, actually. But maybe you should regulate something, mate - namely your intake of calories you fat fuck.
Suppose it's good that Hockey's not flip-flopping. Wouldn't want a ginormous oaf like that flailing about. He might knock over the furniture or something.
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| New member? |
| 02.19.04 (7:04 pm) [edit] |
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Hey, Rat Pack, why don't you ask this guy to join you? Maybe he could be your supplier.
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| Cyber-suckholes join forces! |
| 02.19.04 (6:12 pm) [edit] |
Here we go. A bunch of tragic Tory wannabes have formed a Coalition of the Swilling!
Who are they? Well there's Arselikki Vikki, who apparently resembles a rabbit. (Scroll down her site, you'll see what I mean.)
Then there are three blind mice called Mike, Marty and Scott.
Together they constitute "The Rat Pack".
How fucking appropriate. I always thought they were vermin.
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| Suckhole tries to steal my thunder |
| 02.19.04 (5:08 pm) [edit] |
Fair dinkum, can you believe these fucking Tories?
I point out the great crisis in male identity happening now, and one of the conga line berates me for it (see post below). Then, next day, a bloody cohort of his tries to exploit the issue, rehashing (and badly) exactly what I'd just said on the matter.
Hey, Oz-hacks, why don't you nail them for flip-flopping?
Still, that said, I won't disagree with the gist of the nancy boy's column. Sure, the sprogs need guidance. Just not from the likes him. They need mature, well-rounded, civilised and compassionate men like me as guides, not feeble fucking fops like Nelson.
(Here he is about to sook up - probably over the loss of his promised super. A mere fart would knock him over!)
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| Press Club address |
| 02.18.04 (5:13 pm) [edit] |
I tell you, these Oz-hacks are really shitting me. They're supposed to be objective, but they spend all their time crawling up the Arselicker's arse, and doing their damnedest to bring down yours truly.
A quick squizz of Google News reveals rivers of bile spilled about my Press Club Address yesterday. I reckon that was a pearler of a speech reclaiming Labor's role as not just the conscience of the nation, but its bloody heart as well!
I must admit I was a tad worried that my focus on the boy and bloke problem might cause more friction between me and Carmen (and there's been more than enough of that lately!) but I knew it had to be said.
But what do I get from the hacks? More bloody sneering. They say I want to be the nation's "agony uncle" or that I've gone from "spew to pew". All because I bloody dare to care. Well, if Labor doesn't dare to care who the fuck is going to? The fucking Tories?
Speaking of which: That nancy boy Downer was close to copping one, I tell you. Totally rejected my spot-on summary of the crisis in bloke-identity due to the loss of muscle jobs. Said he was "reeling from listening to my fusillade of cliches".
Hey Lexie, you keep that shit up, I'll do a bloody muscle job on you, mate. You'll be reeling from something else: a fucking fusillade of punches to that smug little mug of yours!
Bloody suckhole.
I tell you, I'm still fucking brimming.
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| More Carmen trouble |
| 02.18.04 (4:52 am) [edit] |
I tell you, I just love sheilas. And I love socialist sheilas even more. But I've got to say that quite often they flummox me utterly.
Like just recently I made this passing comment that politics was "show business for ugly people". Got picked up in a few of the media outlets. Not major exposure, but. (It's here if you're interested.)
Anyway, not long after I get a call from Carmen and she says, very curtly, "Mark, I want a word with you!" Then she tells me that most of the rest of the Labor women were deeply offended by the comment.
I asked why - because, you know, it seemed harmless enough. I can hear her on the other end, gnashing her teeth. Then she goes, "Mark, do I have to spell it out for you?"
"Well, yes you do, actually."
"Well, do you think that I'm ugly, or Jenny, or the other women?"
"Of course not."
"Well then, be careful what you say!"
"Okay, I will," I say. "And I'm sorry. Do you forgive me?"
"Of course, Mark," she says.
So, feeling heaps better - 'cause I hate infighting - I decide to add another little compliment, just to finish the job and leave her feeling rosy. So I add, "Actually, Carmen, you're not just not ugly. You're a total spunk. Any bloke who doesn't bar up like a bastard the moment he points his peepers at your fabulous fun bags must be some kind of weirdo poof or something!"
Instantly there's this horrified gasp on the other end. And a few seconds later I hear these deep, loud sobs - you know, coming right up from her guts!
Then I realise, of course, I've bloody "objectified" her, or "commodified" her or whatever they call it.
So I go to apologise again, but before I get a chance to she bloody hangs up on me!
I tell you, I really think I hit a major nerve with that little faux pas. Don't know how the fuck I'm going to remedy that one.
Anyway, if there's any public discord between me and her in the coming weeks you'll know what caused it, won't you?
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| Problem sorted |
| 02.18.04 (2:26 am) [edit] |
That editing SNAFU has been fixed, thank fuck. I was worried that all my inner thoughts might end up disappearing, and I couldn't flog 'em to a publisher down the track. These musings do constitute a shit-hot record of my tumultuous first days as leader, after all.
Anyway, glad that one's sorted.
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| Other troubles |
| 02.17.04 (4:49 pm) [edit] |
As well as my own inner turmoil, this bloody blog-host (or maybe my PC) is going spacko on me.
Can't edit the bastard.
So, apologies for the sloppiness of the last post.
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| Identity crisis |
| 02.17.04 (4:43 pm) [edit] |
Fair dinkum, I've been feeling more than a bit alienated - not to mention pretty fucking delicate - over the last day or two.
See, as some other bloggers have pointed out, this site tops the list in Google searches for Mark Latham. They mention that as if it's a joke, because they think that this blog is a joke.
Well, they're fucksticks. You'd expect that of them.
A fair percentage of Oz-hacks, too, know about it. But most of them think it's fake. And the ones who know it's real conspire to keep it a secret from the population.
About the only other people who know that it's dinkum - besides all you bonzer readers out there, of course! - are Carmen and a few of her close sheila friends. And they usually read it to have a go at me for being "unreconstructed" and the like.
And you know what? Even my bloody staff - in my own office - didn't know it existed until yesterday! Couple of them storm in here and say, "Mark, you'd better see this." They point out the Google page, and say, "This doesn't look good. Some smartarse is mocking you. And probably as many surfers - or maybe even more - are going there instead of to your offical site."
I said, "Hey, what's the problem? The real Mark Latham is listed above the official one. All is as it should be."
They look at me like stunned bloody mullets! Then they both burst out laughing.
"Haw, haw, haw... You're such a card, Mark," they say. "But really, we should do something about this."
I realised they were totally convinced that it was bull-twang, and that nothing was going to shift them.
So I fucking acquiesced, didn't I? Played their game.
I said, "Look, I've got more important things to worry about. Give me the bloody itinerary!"
Then I get caught up in the day's business, Question Time and all that. You know, so I'm in major tight-arsed mode. And I come back here in the evening. I notice the blog up on one of the PCs. (My staff had either left it on or they'd had been having another optic.)
I look at it and think "What's this?" It's my fucking blog, right - this fucking blog. And for a good ten seconds I don't bloody recognise it!
Put the wind up me, it did.
I've been in tight-arsed Canberra mode for too bloody long. Not only do my own staff not know who the fuck I am. Sometimes I don't know who the fuck I am.
It's starting to scare me readers - big time.
It's not like me to seek help for this kind of existential shit (or maybe it is, I don't know!) so I thought I'd ask you readers out there for help.
What the fuck do you think I should do?
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| A bloody disgrace to the fairer sex |
| 02.17.04 (12:58 am) [edit] |
Fair dinkum, what is it with these right-wing sheilas? I've always got one of them on my case. Just when the 'ho (formerly skanky) sees the light and starts heaping praise instead of abuse, this arselikki Vikki chikki steps in to start slinging some shit.
And shit it most certainly is:
Mark Latham never fails to unleash a [b]stream of shit[/b] everytime he opens his mouth. "I grew up poor," he says, "And struggled lots. I'm a real Aussie Battler!"
Henceforth, thee shall be known as Gardyloo Mark, by way of warning the public of the hypocritical [b]shit[/b] about to come.
For those who don't know, "Gardyloo!" is a cry that used to be heard in the slums in Scotland (and France, too-- apparently). It meant that [b]shit and piss and slop[/b] would come flying out of the chamber pots, out of the window, and onto the open [b]sewerage[/b] below. It served as a warning to people walking around in the street.
Frankly, I'm shocked. Is this any way for a young sheila to speak? Wash your mouth out with soap, you little scrubber. Then learn some fucking manners!
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| Re: Strange allies |
| 02.12.04 (5:40 pm) [edit] |
Like Broggers and the 'ho, now the Arselicker sees the light, and gets with the program I devised.
Goodness gracious me, whatever next? He might do a Cheryl, and cross the floor. Then the next arse he tries to lick will be mine!
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| Strange allies |
| 02.11.04 (5:34 pm) [edit] |
Fair dinkum, how's this for weird? Bloody Broggers agress with my plan to cut pollies' super!
Combined with the 'ho's going arse-about with her opinion of me (see below) doesn't this make the Tories a bigger bunch of flip-floppers than yours truly?
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| Kev's lost it! |
| 02.11.04 (1:16 am) [edit] |
Fair dinkum, this Kevin Andrews bloke has really taken the cake with his latest press release. (You can see it on the Crikey website, here, with some atypically apposite commentary from an Oz-hack.)
Here's a portion of the bizarre tract:
“Mr Latham once believed in internet democracy. He wrote on 14/5/2000 in the Sunday Mail that: ‘Democracy can be revitalised only by opening the system to public participation. Internet democracy seems a logical change. It will re-engage people in the political process. Politicians will need to post detailed information and policies on the net, addressing a host of issues and audiences.’
“Mr Latham says he believes in ‘honesty and transparency in public life’ yet he is now denying what he once believed in.
“As Orwell wrote ‘to simultaneously hold two opinions which cancelled out….to forget whatever was necessary to forget.’ This is doublethink…”
Can you belive this shit? I mean, he's accusing me of flip-flopping about my belief in the net as a great facilitator of democracy. Yet here I am, on the net, expressing my opinions, and more than happy to let other bastards express theirs!
And what's with the Orwell quote? Have a look at that last paragraph above.
Hey, Kev, here's a bit of Orwell, re-appropriated to apply to you, mate: "To simultaneously hold your dick while yabbering inco-fucking-herently; to blurt whatever bizarre notions ricochet back and forth within the echoing emptiness that is your bonce - this is doublewank."
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| Re: Super perks - Mark 2 |
| 02.10.04 (3:28 am) [edit] |
I knew that my proposal was going to cause a stink. But I didn't expect such whiffiness from my side of politics.
I mean, bloody Michael Lavarch reckons it was "cheap populism".
"Cheap"? Fuck. I sacrificed probably millions that was coming to me!
Actually, I reckon his little hissy fit has just as much to do with his own envy of my meteoric rise as his loyalty to all those smarmy, soon-to-be-superannuated silks.
He's just jealous cause he's no longer the media golden boy he was when he was Attorney General.
I mean, look at him. Smug little baby-faced prick! Not so recognisable now, are we Michael?
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| Super perks - Mark 2 |
| 02.10.04 (2:53 am) [edit] |
I know I said on this blog that I would keep my own perks. But after much consultation with my sprogs, and other half, I have decided that it would be best to eschew the said benefits in my codgerdom.
Assorted Tory cyber-scum will no doubt see this as still more "flip-flopping". But really it's just another illustration of my passionate, complicated and intriguing character.
Conservatives, being the literal-minded boneheads they are, need everything to be consistent and logical.
Really, how fucking dull!
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| Typical Tory! |
| 02.09.04 (8:15 pm) [edit] |
This Dr Weevil fellow is being a right fuckstick, I tell you.
He reckons I'm a wuss because Jules Gillard recently made a pre-emptive strike - very effective, I might add - against the conga line.
But I'm not "hiding behind the skirts of a girl" as Mr Mantis Features puts it. I'm just walking my post-feminist talk, that's all. I'm allowing the empowered sheilas to have their say without censoring them or patronising them in any way - as Herr Gnat Face and his fellow creepy crawlies would. (I think the sisters call this "subverting the dominant paradigm" or something. Whatever, it's all good.)
But Professor Beetle Brain there can't see past his own [i]phallocentric fucking prejudice![/i]
Misogynist cunt.
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| Blogosphere boneheads |
| 02.08.04 (9:34 pm) [edit] |
I tell you, judging from all the bizarre comments in the boxes below, it's clear that a depressingly high proportion of blog-hoppers (and bloggers, for that matter) are just scrotally obsessed with the contents of my pants.
So, it comes as a relief when one of them is actually fixated on my other nut - the (slightly) larger one between my shoulders, that is - and the hair that covers it.
In a mocking tone she asks, "What have you got to say for yourself Cow Lick Man?"
Well, this: You may think my fibres are fugly. But at least I've got shitloads more than your hero, Arse Lick Chick!
And just to show what a selfless bastard I am, I'll offer all you RWDBs out there another nickname for yours truly that combines both of your obsessions with me: "Hair Ball".
It's all yours.
Go crazy.
Open with it.
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| Super perks |
| 02.08.04 (6:37 pm) [edit] |
Here we go! Another of Rupert's roosters (although in this case, he's more of a bantam) has a go at me.
In his rant, the runt accuses me of flip-flopping over my bonzer plan to cut back on pollies' super. Then the little lizard (or should I say, skink) asks:
The other question that will be interesting to put to Latham is this: if he wins and incoming MPs' super payments are wound back, would he join the new scheme or stay with the perks of the old?
My answer: I'll stay with the old system, of course. Why? Because I want to assure voters that - contrary to my reputation for radicalism - I do have some respect for the legislators of the past. Also, because (paradoxically) I'm always thinking about the future - namely the distant future.
That is, when I reach my late sixties and beyond, I won't be doing the after dinner circuit in the big end of town like Champagne Charlie and his ilk. I'll be working my blurter off building Zimmer frames of opportunity for my fellow codgers! Now, how will I be able to selflessly devote myself to this cause without a regular income?
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| Shit counter |
| 02.08.04 (4:08 am) [edit] |
Just re my last post: I was thinking that as well as a device to record visits to my blog, I should also employ some technology to record the number of times people have publicly betrayed and abused me.
Then you'd see a comparable - or even greater - set of numbers, I reckon.
I mean, bloody everyone's had a go at me since I scored the top job. The foes I can handle. But the (former) allies? That hurts, big time. First there was my ex Gabby getting stuck into me for dumping her. Now my old mentor Frank Heyhoe has a kick.
Jeez, thanks mate!
Both accused me of looking out for number one, being ruthlessly ambitious and selfish.
Don't they know that I always put the interests of others (including them) before mine? I'm about the most selfless bastard you could ever meet, I am.
Just ask Gough - another selfless bastard. Understands me totally, he does. Peas in a pod, we are. He would never stab me in the back, now would he?
Fair dinkum, some people just don't know what's good for them.
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| Hit counter |
| 02.08.04 (1:39 am) [edit] |
Below left you'll see a hit counter. Obviously, it looks like buggerall people have seen this blog. You may be wondering, "How the fuck is he going to win the election with such piss-poor levels of support?"
But let me assure you nothing could be further from the truth. My musings have been viewed by a veritable shit-load of surfers, all recorded on the in-house stat counter (inaccessible to the public). But since I decided to go public with my stats - since being accountable is part of the whole Labor ethos - I had to "outsource" a more visible counter. And it is recording hits only as of a few minutes ago.
Re my audience: It seems that most of these people are from beyond the borders of the fair land of Oz. And why? Well, this blog has had buggerall publicity from myself. And most of the Australian hacks (who, as we are well aware, really do know how to keep a secret) have either ignored it entirely, or put out the lie that it's bullshit (maybe the Arselicker's behind this?).
Still, it's good to know that I have an international audience. I have always been a proponent of globalism, after all.
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| Skanky 'ho does a u-ie |
| 02.03.04 (5:12 pm) [edit] |
Fair dinkum, how's this for a bloody turnaround: the skanky 'ho has written a piece complimentary of my vision!
The bit that made her warm to me? Stuff in my keynote speech about young tackers with no dads:
Pointing to the 600,000 children who live in single-parent households, Latham has promised to set up a national mentoring program. He told the conference: "For boys without men in their lives this is a real issue: a lack of male mentors and role models teaching them the difference between right and wrong. I see this in my own community: boys who have gone off the rails. And lost touch with a thing called society."
Actually, I cited the stats just to make it more "speechy". The real reason I put the idea in was because I knew what it was like to be without a father myself. Then I scored a top replacement in Gough, of course. And the rest is history. So I thought, wouldn't it be great if every boy had their own Gough? Hence the mentoring program idea.
Still, truth be told I was bloody nervous about pushing the concept. I knew Carmen wouldn't be happy. She hasn't said anything yet, but it's only a matter of time. I've got my running shoes on again just in case she wants a word with me!
Still, this positive piece by the skanky 'ho really has done my head in a tad. I mean, goodness gracious me, whatever next? The Arselicker telling the truth?
Maybe Albrechtsen is just trying to mess with my head? Maybe not. I dunno.
In the meantime, I'll just play it cool - as I have been since winning the top job. (And I'll describe the skanky 'ho a tad more respectfully on this blog. From now on she'll be known as "the 'ho". How's that for compromise? And who says I have no fucking manners?)
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