Right on target, so direct.
The look-at-me glance is hubris concentrate,
a squirt of the tongue, a sigh of relief.
This governing lark's a bit straight-forward i'nit!
We give a sporting chance to a baked-earth pigeon,
what with its speed and fleeting arc.
The community project that brings no votes... not so much.
Won't get that one off the ground, sunshine!
You see, one shot was just not enough, not when three of every four would'a missed, sacrificed to the ungrateful god of merit.
Huh, deified "merit" good for only 27 per cent success on our index.
You call that arm's length?
Try this little beauty, both barrels. Accuracy 73 per cent, guaranteed - Colour-coded too.
After all, "power grows from the barrel of a gun, et cetera" ...is that one of Barnaby's?
Targeted spending works a whole lot better if the targets were larger, and slower.
I'm thinking pork barrels hoisted skyward?
But then, what goes up, must come... and, you guessed it.
Maybe. The best thing about the "quiet Australians" is just how quiet they can be relied on to be.
Leave the light off darl... is this process searchable? Or even half defensible?
Who stopped the music ... bilious now from Morrison-dancing on the heaving deck of equivalence.
"All the projects were eligible" he says
Oh, the humanity, scratch that, the sophistry. Cue indignation. Cue the blame game. Cue Nausea.
Wait, even the Oz!
All that crap, you're putting it in the paper?
Damage control 101 says let's tie this thing off because that dog don't hunt.
Panic at the first whiff of buckshot
A "Bridget" too far His Smugness mumbled even though they all knew, and they all loved it.
You're gonna make me lonesome when I go. Dangerous too.
Promotion for that damned Littleproud?
Little #&*%, more like!
Or the court Chester God help us, darling of the inner-cities. With "friends" like that...
Andrew Gee? You're kidding me right? I mean, not even fit for cooking with.
At least Mic-Mac's got my back, but who's got his mouth?
The begrudging shuffle from clay pigeons to clay feet.
Everyone just loves a shooting star.
'Turns out what rorts around, comes around, and rather too sharpish for my tastes.
No quotas in the Coalition remember, only targets.
Fine and dandy until you're one of 'em.
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