Tony Abbott has a penis. Penis penis penis penis penis. The penis can sometimes be seen in a pair of red speedos, and quite often its outline, along with his scrotum, in his bike pants as well. Penis penis penis. Scrotum scrotum scrotum.

There, that should’ve scared all the Family First voters away, let’s now talk about Julia Gillard’s birth canal.

Okay, let’s not.

Welcome to our second attempt at the new, colour, huge distribution, world-conquering 2010 King’s Tribune, folks. We hope you like it. We really hope you like it, because it’s two months’ worth!!!! That’s right, after a couple of the most epically Failsome months in Tribune history (see page 12), we’ve had to combine February and March into what we like to call Farch. Enjoy it, it’s colour, it’s useful, it cost a fucking heap to print!!!

Tempting as it is to keep mentioning Tony Abbot’s penis, I suppose it behoves us to blather on about some of the other things that have been happening in the world as we know it. Peter Garrett is, apparently, a murderer. Tony Abbott and his penis (sorry) suggested the other day that industrial manslaughter could be appropriately pointed in Garrett’s direction. He rescinded this shortly after, however, when it was pointed out that, as Howard’s Health Minister, shouldn’t he then have been a co-defendant in every medical malpractice suit in Australia? Ah, the joys of having as opposition leader a man who occasionally strays off the spin-doctors’ script.

In a rare event, we have managed to get two people who bear remarkable resemblances to Barnaby Joyce and Steve Fielding in the same room, or at least on the same page. This is not something you’re likely to see often, if ever again, as Barnyard goes lurching around the country, frothing at the mouth and bringing untold new meanings to the word “inarticulate”. While he’s spouting barely-comprehensible rubbish about debt and foreign aid and investment, he’s stealing oxygen from Fielding, whose minders must be shitting bullets as they see his constituents’ tiny little brains being distracted by bright shiny Barnyard spittle flying across the camera. We don’t like Joyce, and the prospect of him as Finance Minister should have us all stockpiling bottled water and anti-personnel mines, but at least he’s a member of the coalition, and therefore subject to some control, and if he takes votes from Fielding, that’s a good thing.

Staying on national politics, our beloved Communications Minister has just done a deal with the Free To Air networks. They wanted him to simply remove licensing fees, and he met them in the middle, granting them a 50%, $250 million cut. That’s like me filling up at the service station and sauntering up to the counter and saying “I want this petrol for free”, and the guy behind the counter saying, “oh, okay, nice man, you can have it for half-price” instead of hitting the alarm and telling me to go fuck myself.

But the guy at the servo isn’t the Communications Minister, and I’m not a TV network who he’s been handing gazillions of dollars to over the years to protect me from technology that’s showing how outdated my business is and how deliberately blind I’ve been to what’s coming and how I think I can treat my viewers like fucking morons and keep making money out of them and the government.

Other than Steve The King (of Tonga..sorry, local joke), right now we’re hard-pressed to think of a Steve who’s not an utter knob-jockey (King, you’re a bit of a knob-jockey, too): Fielding? Conroy? Well, that Bradbury ice-skater guy’s okay except for his stupid hair, and there’s Steve Vai the guitarist, but that Hawking bloke who wrote that book nobody could finish and talks like a dalek, he’s just a prick.

Let’s get back to national politics for a par or two. Now, aside from The Australian’s hysterical “Rudd Hits New Low” in response to a ONE POINT drop in ONE POLL, Kevin and his government are actually looking a little on the nose, and it is not entirely inconceivable that the Dear Leader could steward the first one-term federal government in many years. It’s not that he’s doing a particularly bad job, and I challenge anyone to look me in the eye and say a coalition Comms Minister wouldn’t have done the same thing Conroy just did. People appear to be a bit tired, though, of the promises that went to committee after committee and look like never being delivered, and the relentless spin and bullshit.

It usually takes a couple of terms for a government to lose touch with the people to this extent (Brumby anyone, and Kennett before him?), but the Kevin 07 team appear to have never had touch with us. They cruised in on the electorate’s belated realisation that Howard was an evil lying motherfucker, and now that they’re in the hot seat they appear to think that all that’s needed to run a country is to appoint people to steering committees, be photographed with Cate Blanchett, and buy the odd drink for the Canberra press gallery.

On current performance, and if he can’t or won’t improve on it, Rudd should go, and there’s really only one thing that stops us shouting that from the rooftops: the opposition front bench. As you peruse the following list, remember that they are THE ALTERNATIVE GOVERNMENT: Julie Bishop. Bronwyn Bishop. Phillip Ruddock. Christopher Pyne. Kevin Andrews. Barnaby Joyce. Joe Hockey. Tony Abbott. Tony Abbott’s penis (sorry).

This is serious, folks. Like Rudd or loathe him, we simply must keep the horrible little man there, lest we end up with Barnyard Joyce as our finance minister, and Ruddock and Andrews let off the leash to spew their hatred all over the nation once again. While you’re working on your Fielding Must Go placards, run off a few to remind the Dear Leader to Do His Fucking Job And Stop Being Such A Knob.

This rant is being prepared on the verandah outside (Lord, that Mercedes looks good in the driveway as long as I ignore the puddles under it), as the house itself resembles something a bunch of drunk furniture removalists would set their apprentice as a challenge on Mad Monday. We’re moving the kids’ bedrooms around (well, not the rooms themselves, just the kids and all their stuff), turning our room into the study/printing press, oh did we mention we’ve painted one room and want to paint the rest of the house, and we’ve still got the Epic Fail ebay printer in the spare room, the new Epic Win printer in the kitchen, the whippets are hiding under a mountain of laundry and the dishwasher’s fucked. There’s a bottle of red sitting next to me, and the fucker will rue the day, let me tell you….

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