stripperella

Ah, very funny, SBS. I noticed in the telly guide they were screening a show called Stripperella tonight. (Synopsis: "A man is bitten by a uranium-contaminated beaver and starts chomping everything in sight that is made of wood. Back at the club, Giselle is performing lap dance on an elderly fellow, and when it is over, she discovers that he has had a fatal heart attack".)
Elsewhere, the 7:30 Report totally let me down tonight. There was Kerry O'Brien playing along with the faux-scandal and trying to nail Kevin Rudd on whether he had in fact seen a lapdancer lapdancing or not. Man, who cares? Sorry, this one's in the public disinterest, guys.
Meanwhile, this contentious Jack Marx piece (reproduced at Club Troppo) is just waaaay too much information. I don't want to think of Rudd's "erection creaking to life in his trousers". I don't want to imagine his "anxious loins". I really don't want to imagine him "humping" anything:

"Back at his hotel room, the shadow foreign affairs minister would have laid in the dark, thinking. He would have smelled her, felt her lingering touch still upon him, like that of some phantasmic seductress. Perhaps, if he were lying face down, he’d have begun a gentle humping, his pillow underneath as kapok mistress. Or perhaps, with closed eyes to the heavens, deliverance would have been at hand."

Naughty, sure, but hardly a sackable piece of writing, I wouldn't have thought. This isn't Spain after all. Here, cartoonists can get away with drawing important figures in bed, like Leunig did in Saturday's Herald. Mind you, the woman Leunig drew in bed with John doesn't resemble Janette at all; maybe Glenn Milne should investigate further.
Anyway, surely the most interesting part is the identity of exactly who was gyrating in front of Kev that night? Aha!

joke of the day

I read this quote from the Foreign Minister in The Australian this morning:

"I'm not terribly focused on whether I ever could become leader of the Liberal Party or deputy leader," he says.
"If there was a mass assassination of a whole lot of people, well, I mean, I just don't know.

And for a good hour I completely misunderstood it. I thought he was joking that a mass political assassination might open up some career moves for him. Eventually I realised he meant he faints at the sight of blood, or something.
The story reports that Downer wants to be Treasurer. Gee, terrorists must be praying for a Liberal victory. With Fudgefingers at the helm of Australia's national accounts, there should be ample opportunity to inconspicuously funnell cash to rogue states and terrorists. After all the whole world knows Downer doesn't have time to read office memos. Well, he is writing a novel, so he's a bit distracted at times, as we writers are. But never mind.
Sadly this para didn't make it into the Oz's story:

Barely containing his glee, Downer rubbed his chubby paws together. "A wonderful job! Should be jolly good fun! Oh, goody!"

Elsewhere, it takes one rat to know another...