ALP post-election policy meet up, Ablo’s man-cave, Marrickville.

The scene: it’s your standard wood laminate lined back shed situation. 

Old Picture Magazine, Australasian Post and CarToons pin ups festoon the walls. There’s an old foamcore Red Eye Records sign hung over the bar, which is stocked exclusively with Tooheys New. Ablo’s wheels of steel are dormant on the bar, mixing headphones perched on top of some truly egregious BOSE woofers.

Joel Fitzgibbons (absent) has positioned a cardboard standee of Acca Dacca’s Angus Young with his dacks down on top of one of the Razorback pinnies next to the Happy Hour Tiki Bar.

The old chrome and neon jukebox is unplugged in deference to the imminent, epic meeting of the ALP’s most throbbing progressive minds.

Ablo, Shadow Treasurer Jim Chalmers and Shadow Home Affairs Minister Kristina Keneally have their arses parked on pleather HSV beanbags, which are arrayed around an empties-strewn glass coffee table. 

A glowering Penny Wong is on video hook up via Hang Outs, beamed in on Ablo’s superior ADSL2+ secret shed shenanigans cable connection.

Richard Marles is at home with a crook tummy.

Ablo’s decked out in a Rabbitohs beanie and a Joy Division tee under a flanno. He’s wearing Rivers acid wash jorts and Birkenstocks. There’s a tinnie perched on his gut, and he’s humming The Choirboys’ ‘Run to Paradise’ to himself.

Chalmers sports full Maroons kit trakky daks with a #STARTADANI t-shirt slung over the top. He’s from Queensland, you know.

Keneally has opted for a full nun’s habit.

We pick up the meeting with Chalmers in full flight.

“ - polling continually indicates that voters relate most to fat losers who don’t challenge or threaten them in any way whatsoever, preferably ones that remind them of someone they bullied mercilessly at school, which is why I decided not to run for the leadership -”

“Yes, Jim, we fucken know that Billary squibbed it with all that pinko shit,” Ablo interrupts. “Clearly the punters weren’t into his is-he-isn’t-he bullshit, and bugger that for a joke moving forward. We’re going to be like white on rice with Scummo this parliament, I promise you. You won’t get a fag paper between us on policy…”

“Bang on, Ablo! Screw the plebs, we’re going to climb into the coits of those cashed up tradie shitheads for maximum bang for our electoral buck!” Chalmers froths.

Penny Wong, continuing to glower from Ablo’s clagged up old Dell laptop: “Well, we’re going to have to explain to them why Bali will be under water in 20 years, Ablo.”

“Hahaha twenty years! Fuck, Penny! That’s ages! We need to focus on the here and now, bugger “the future”! That’s why I’m unveiling our 2022 election slogan here in the cave today.”

Ablo flicks open a bashed up old A3 visual arts diary with a flourish, revealing a page with a post-it note in the top corner and a busy biro rendering of said slogan:


“Whaddya think, guys? If they go low, we’re going lower! Izzy Folau for Grand God-Bothering Chief High Commissioner! Religious freedom to crucify bum bandits in the street? Tick! Enshrine bigotry in the school curriculum? Done and done! Third world internet? Yes we can! Eugenics? Why not! Anti asylum seeker missile platforms? Great for the South Australian economy! Toney Abbott for UN Envoy! Sweet as! Abolish Newstart and hand out bow and arrows? Hilarious! Abolish the tax free threshold? Eat the poor! Robodebt? Fucken send in ED-209! Repeal gun reform? Make things interesting - hand 'em out! Intervention 2.0? Fuck yeah! RFID chips for everyone! Invade New Zealand? That Jacinda chick’s getting uppity! Make Chris Kenny the MD of the ABC? Already sent him the PD! Franking credits credits? Boomers or bust! Pump ‘em with fucken multivitamins and bull cum and hopefully they’ll live to 100! Alan Jones for Governor General! Fuck yeah! Can we frack Uluru? My IPA contact says yes! Kristina -” 

“Yes, Ablo?”

“We’re really going to stick it to that munted sack of melted Play-Doh Dutto - what are the odds you do a bit of nudge nudge winky cheeky signalling to the Young Nationals set - if you get my meaning - and sign off your tweets with ‘KKK’?”

“Well, Ablo, my name is Kristina Kerscher Keneally!”

“Fucking hell, really? You can’t write this stuff!”

“Check my wiki!”

“KKK, She-Wolf of the -”

Chalmers: “Ablo, did you know there’s a bloke on twitter with your name that draws sex stuff? It won’t fly in Queensland!”

Penny Wong sighs sadly as she motions to terminate her hook up.

That’s when the roof of Ablo’s man-cave collapses inwards, birthing a crack squad of Australian Federal Pigs in full Judge Dredd tactical gear.

Their leader peels off his ski mask, revealing the pudding-like Bavarian mug of Mathias Cormann.

He sparks a Cuban and does his accent.

“Ve’ff been vatching you on your un-zehcured Hang Outs session, Ah-blo. Hullo, Penny.”


She’s terse.

Ablo rises creakily from his bean bag, pinkens and spits, “Just get it over with, you bean counting, goose-stepping fuckwit!” 

“I’ve been zent by Scow-Mow. He vants to know…”

“Out with it, man!” Ablo sneers.

“Haff you got any spare policies?”


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