Emma Tom ( an attractive and amusing woman ) writes an amusing satirical ditty in The Australian today about the “race riots” in Sydney. Enjoy…
December 14, 2005
WHICHEVER bastard said we live in confusing times got it dead right.
Only last weekend me and my mate Smithy misread a text message and started an absolute s— fight at the local dog park ‘cos we thought we were sposed to beat up all the Labs.
“Go back to where ya came from,” we yelled, hurling Molotov cocktails made of beer bottles, Aussie flags and barbecued snags. “Canine scum from 1700s Newfoundland don’t belong in a country that prides itself on decency, tolerance and the right to drink ’til ya puke pure liver.”
Pretty soon a whole heap of other people turned up and joined in. Most of ’em hadn’t got the text message, but after a few hours of solid skulling they said they’d always hated Labrador retrievers, too, and that the time had come to reclaim the whatsit after the whole Jap war grandfather wog Hanson thing.
Jeez it was satisfying. After years of putting up with stupid Labs hanging round OUR dog park, those mongrels were finally running for their lives.
Someone started screaming that we’d made a mistake, that we’d just clocked a black kelpie that’d been born and bred in Dubbo. But we clocked this whingeing bastard, too. After all, a bit of collateral damage is only to be expected during wars and whatnot.
One elderly stickybeak asked what Labs had ever done to us.
“Can’t remember,” we replied, slurring a bit by this stage. “But if Labs were serious about fitting in, they’d make an effort to speak English instead of carrying on with all that stupid barking. Also we got a text message.”
Me and Smithy gave the elderly stickybeak a beer shower (one day my Nan will learn not to jab her nose where it’s not wanted) and did a final sweep to see if any cowardly Labs were hiding in the toilet block or under cars.
Then we headed down to the pub for a celebration beer.
That’s when we saw the TV footage of the whole ruckus down at Cronulla.
“Oh s—,” said Smithy (scuse his French – he’s into that multicultural crap). “It was LEBS we were sposed to be going for. Not Labs but LEBS.”
This caused us a bit of grief and soul scratching, I can tell you. We don’t get a whole lot of Lebs round our parts and the TV footage made everything kinda confusing.
All that stuff about foreigners hassling chicks at the beach, for example. I mean, me and Smithy make honkin’ noises at sheilas in bikinis like no one’s business and we’re as Oi Oi Oi as they come.
Just between you and me, me and Smithy are also big fans of kebabs, specially if they come with plenty of tabouli and that humans sauce.
Someone else in the pub – probably one of them tit-totallers – piped up and said the Cronulla hoo-ha had as much to do with alcohol as with racism. He said when was the last time we’d seen 5000 heroin addicts, dope smokers or pill poppers run amok, chucking bottles at ambos and so on?
That’s when me and Smithy snapped again. We’d just done a whole bunch of them Cockrocking Cowboy shooters and were in a very good position to speak knowledgeably about the benefits of alcohol, thank you very much.
“Talk about un-Australian,” we said, bowling the tit-totaller off his stool and giving him a whoppin’ great boot in the gob. “Bitching about beer like a total bloody Leb.”
“But isn’t it Labs we hate?” yelped Smithy as the bouncer sent us flying arse over tit into the street.
“You bet,” I said. “But this wide, white land’s all about equal opportunity and open mindedness and whatnot. We can’t ignore Lebs just ‘cos they’re not Labs.”
“I see your point,” said Smithy.
And off we trotted to Cronulla to kick some sense into the bastards.
The Australian: Emma Tom: A crook message [December 14, 2005]: “Emma Tom: A crook message