An ode to Australia?
WE, the people of the broad brown land of Oz, wish to
be recognised as a free nation of blokes, sheilas and the occasional
boong.
We come from many lands (although a few too many of us come from New
Zealand) and, although we live in the best country in the world, we reserve
the right to bitch and moan about it whenever we bloody like.
We are One Nation but we're divided into many States.
First, there's Victoria, named after a queen who didn't believe in
lesbians. Victoria is the realm of Mossimo turtlenecks, cafe latte, grand
final day and big horse races.
Its capital is Melbourne, whose chief marketing pitch is that it's
"liveable". At least that's what they think. The rest of us think
it is too bloody cold and wet.
Next, there's NSW, the realm of pastel shorts, macchiato with sugar, thin
books read quickly and millions of dancing queens.
Its capital Sydney has
more queens than any other city in the world, and is proud of it. Its
mascots are Bondi lifesavers who pull their Speedos up their cracks to
keep the left and right sides of their brains separate.
Down south we have Tasmania, a State based on the nation that the family
that bonks together stays together.
In Tassie, everyone gets an extra
chromosome at conception. Maps of the State bring smiles to the sternest
faces. It holds the world record for a single mass shooting, which the
Yanks can't seem to beat no matter how often they try.
South Australia is the province of half-decent reds, a festival of
foreigners and bizarre axe murders. SA is the state of innovation, where
else can you so effectively reuse country bank vaults and barrels as in
Snowton, just out of Adelaide (also named after a queen). They had the
Grand Prix, but lost it when the views of Adelaide sent the Formula One
drivers to sleep at the wheel.
Western Australia is too far from anywhere to be relevant in this
document. It's main claim to fame is that it doesn't have daylight
saving because if it did all the men would get erections on the bus on
the way to work. WA was the last state to stop importing convicts, and
many of them still work there in the government and business.
The Northern Territory is the red heart of our land. Outback plains, sheep
stations the size of Europe, kangaroos, jackaroos, emus, Ulurus and dusty
kids with big smiles.
It also has the highest beer consumtion of anywhere
on the planet, and its creek beds have the highest aluminium content of
anywhere too. Although the Territory is the centrepiece of our national
culture, few of us live there and the rest prefer to fly over it on our
way to Bali.
And there's Queensland. While any mention of God seems silly in a document
defining a nation of half-arsed agnostics, it is worth noting that God
probably made Queensland.
Why he filled it with dickheads remains a mystery.
Oh yes, and there's Canberra. The least said the better.
We, the citizens of Oz, are united by the Pacific Highway, whose
treacherous twists and turns kill more of us each year than die by murder.
We are united in our lust for international recognition, so desperate for
praise we leap in joy when a ragtag gaggle of corrupt IOC officials tells
us Sydney is better than Beijing.
We are united by a democracy so flawed
that a political party, albeit a redneck gun-toting one, can get a million
votes and still not win one seat in Federal Parliament while bloody Brian
Harradine can get 24,000 votes and run the whole country. Not that we're
whingeing, we leave that to our Pommy immigrants.
We want to make "no worries mate" our national phrase,
"she'll be right mate" our national attitude, and "Waltzing Matilda" our
national anthem (So what if it's about a sheep-stealing crim who commits
suicide).
We love sport so much our newsreaders can read the death toll from a sailing
race and still tell us who's winning in the same breath. And we're the best in
the world at all the sports that count, like cricket, netball, rugby, AFL,
roo-shooting, two-up and horse racing.
We also have the biggest rock, the tastiest pies, the blackest aboriginies
and the worst-dressed Olympians in the known universe. We don't know much
about art but we know we hate the poofs who make it.
We shoot, we vote. We are girt by sea and pissed by lunchtime. And even
though we might seem a racist, closed-minded, sports-obsessed little
people, at least we're better than the Kiwis.
Now bugger off.
