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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?
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| My little Olympian |
| 01.13.05 (2:26 am) [edit] |
|
Yeah, I know, you're all saying, "What the fuck's going on, Mark? You say one thing on this blog, then go and do something entirely different!" Well, there's a perfectly rational explanation as usual... See, only a few hours ago I was working on my speech along the lines of what I'd written below. Pancreas was sleeping soundly, getting the only peace he's had for yonks. Then just as I'm putting the final touches on the final draft he wakes up. Gets on the blower to Head and says, "What's Mark up to?" So Head gives him the low-down and what does he do? He goes spacko, doesn't he! He says, "Mate, don't quit on account on me. You could eat three chip sangers a day for a year and I'd still be going. (Sure, I'd be feeling pretty shithouse, but I could still deliver the goods.)" Then he cops this bastard pang right in his guts, and he doubles over in pain. But what do you know, he's still battling! Clutching his tiny midriff he continues: "So Mark, mate. If you think I can't hack it you're wrong. Because I fucken can." Then another pang hits him - BANG! "Oh FUCK... I've got to sit down." And he does. "But don't worry, I'll survive. So, just do what... what you think is right, mate. Oh, you CUUUUUNT!" Mate, I was inspired. Inspired as. So I took a leaf out of Pancreas' little book. Penned my statement in ten seconds flat. And the rest is history. Yep, it's back to work after Oz Day. So if you've got a problem with that, then have the balls to lob at my office. And. I'll. Deck. You. (And Pancreas reckons he will too.) |
posted by: newbie (reply)
post date: 01.17.05 (9:01 pm)
Come on, Lacker, you've quit. Wotcha gonna do now? Lots I'd expect on about $125,000 a year indexed for life.
posted by: Lex (reply)
post date: 01.17.05 (11:34 pm)
One of the hacks wrote somewhere (quoting an anonymous quack) that 95 percent of recurring pancreas problems are grog related, rather than chip sangers.
posted by: Sullivan (reply)
post date: 01.20.06 (1:32 am)
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