I'm here a day early to express my extreme excitement that obscure LNP backbencher Ray Hopper has chosen to let down the people of his electorate by becoming an obscure Australia Party backbencher, thereby increasing Bob Katter's iron toehold in the state parliament by 30 per cent.
Yes, 30 per cent, on one quiet weekend, when there wasn't even an election on. I don't think I need to do the maths to explain why this means Campbell Newman's government is doomed.
(Please don't make me do the maths to explain why this means Campbell Newman's government is doomed.)
With Ray Hopper gone, and yelling back over his shoulder that more would follow him into the promising wastelands of irrelevance, how long can it be before the mantle of state opposition is transferred from the half-dozen or so dazed survivors of the ALP to Bob Katter's insurgent forces?
No, don't laugh, even though "insurgent forces" is a less accurate term for Katter's mob than their official parliamentary designation of Her Majesty's Comedy Relief. You're all forgetting one titanic factor in this equation. Clive Palmer.
Having spent good money to buy himself a government, the billionaire dinosaur enthusiast has also quit the party after finding he'd bought a dud and couldn't get a refund.
Would it stretch the imagination too much to ponder the chances of Clive tossing off his spare Brontosaurus bucks Katter's way, just to cause Newman some grief? Not in my already overstretched imagination, it wouldn't, no.
Surely there are enough loose cannons among the remaining – What? 77? 78? – members of Newman's government, that a just few more could break free of their moorings and start rumbling around the gun deck, popping off rounds.
The idea of a Katter-controlled party surpassing the ALP in numbers and so taking over official Opposition duties is just too appealing to dismiss out-of-hand. The possible capers and hijinks recall for me P.J. O'Rourke's famous line about the joys of getting drunk and driving like a fool.
Contemplating the "LOLs" to be had fanging down a suburban side-street at a hundred miles an hour, half a bottle of whiskey in the bag "with a gram of coke up your nose and a teenage lovely pulling off her tube top in the next seat over", the Republican Party reptile declared, "You'd have to watch the entire Mexican air force crash-land into a liquid petroleum gas storage facility to match this kind of thrill."
My friends, Clive Palmer could be the air marshall of our very own Mexican Air Force, with Bob Katter and his big hat playing the role of Dr Strangelove's crazy cowboy bomber-pilot, while Ray Hopper and a squadron of maverick jet-jockeys spear their planes into Newman's hopes and dreams.
I see giant fibreglass dinosaurs suddenly surrounding Parliament House, a replica Titanic tied up to the Riverside expressway, firing broadsides of loose cannons to cut off any escape by water. I see Katter doing to Newman what Newman did to Anna Bligh, leading the Opposition while not actually being the leader of the Opposition. I see bright days and hilarity ahead. So bright and so hilarious that if the Labor Party had any sense of decency or fun they'd defect to Katter too.