I am such a man. I am such a manly man. Surely I am the manliest of men to ever walk the Earth. Why you ask? What has caused this celebration of hirsutey goodness? Well, it takes a real man to admit his mistakes and I have made a mistake….a bit. Maybe not really a mistake, maybe just jumped the gun. In fact, maybe, with all available evidence at the time of writing I was correct and all my opinions and assumptions were brilliant. After all, hindsight is 20/20 and that is how all judgment calls are judged.

I’m very grateful to all the commenters on my blog, yes I am, goodness me look at all this DEBT did you know the Chinese are going to come in and repossess Australia, I mean we shouldn’t have been selling bits of BHP and stuff to the Chinese, it should have been sold to nice Australians like Rupert Murdoch and those South African guys and Oh My God, look at all this DEBT!

Tony Abbott is a tool of the highest order, but I find myself in a position of actually defending the little prick, and I hate it.

I remember the dim dark distant past when reading The Age would get me angry for the right reasons. Back then I got angry about the events the talented journalists at The Age were reporting; now I just get enraged by the news they are attempting to manufacture. Someone should explain to them that there is a difference between media and journalism. Smarmy twats.

Merry Christmas to all of you, especially the children, the computer-illiterate, and the Religious Right. I hope you all enjoy the giant present I’ve left you, in the form of my wonderful, absolutely perfect, won’t-cost-a-thing, does-everything-without-slowing-down-the-internets-at-ALL, Protect-The-Children web filter!

History is replete with examples of towns, cities, nations and even the odd empire that have had their collective destiny held in the hands of an imbecile.

Who's to Blame? Politicians or The Press Gallery?

So, Question Time this week has, depending on your point of view, either been rollickingly funny Canberran WWF, or a farcical shemozzle of childish political point scoring.

Especially when you have none!

It was with much hilarity tonight that I read an article about polling results published by some money-worshipping mob called Essential Research.

Apparently Kevvie’s people have reminded him about the internets again (“hey, ya big moonfaced git, there’s an entire generation out there that don’t give a toss about your latest sound bite” “Noooooooooo….pay attention to MEEEEE!!! Look at MEEEE!! Listen to MEEEE!!”).

Beyondblue is the national depression initiative dedicated to improving awareness, treatment and prevention of depressive illnesses. In the nearly 10 years since Jeff became the inaugural chairman they have become Australia’s most well publicised source of information about depression.

Bloody Bracks and Brumby too, for using him as an excuse to spend nothing on public transport in the years since he left.

I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to produce a column regarding His Jeffness when our esteemed editors informed me of this month’s topic.

I miss Jeff Kennett, I really do. It would take a lot lengthier tome than this edition of the King's Tribune to fully debate the man's legacy. In his term as Premier of the finest state on God's green Earth, Jeff managed to sell shit we didn't know we owned, close shit we didn't know was open, build shit we didn't know we needed and make us pay for shit we didn't know we bought.

Bring back Jeff ?!?!?! Over my dead body !!! Actually, no, make that “over HIS dead body” and it couldn’t happen to a nicer bloke.

In fact there was something about Jeff's expression that always reminded me of a Tyrannosaurus Rex, a creature that was going to jump roaring out of the forest in Land Before Time, with a wicked grin on its face, the sharp tooth ready to eat up Cera and Littlefoot and all the rest of the kiddy dinosaurs.

Grubby, childish, desperate, pointless. No, Big Brother’s not coming back for another season, I’m talking about the OzCar fake email stoush that’s currently got our nation’s Parliament and press fully occupied, digging through buckets of swill and gleefully paddling about in it, spraying the rest of us with its worthlessness and venality.

One of those clients is an aged care facility, I deal with the business end, where they manage the supply contracts and the property maintenance. They’re professional people; they do their jobs so that they too can pay the rent and the school fees. But I’ve done jobs like that before and there is something that feels a little bit good about earning your living and helping the helpless at the same time. So I like them, and in amongst our contract negotiations and costing calculations we chat a bit about the service they provide.

It may not be the most popular stance at the moment, but I am really not a Kevin Rudd fan.

Even after he paid me $900 to like him (which I used to pay my tax bill – circular market or what?) I still think he’s an oleaginous little shit, far better suited to middle management at the parking inspector’s office than running a country.

Part of my dislike admittedly stems from an instinctive distrust of labour governments governing by committee and funding projects for more social workers, but mostly it’s based on the man himself, and his alleged government.

Big Kev: C’mon sing!! Left my heart to the mappers round Khe Shan. 

Zoran: Vasil, who IS this guy??

Vasil: Hush Zoran. Smile. Is Presidente of Australia.

Big Kev: SING with me…..Well the last train outta Sydney’s almost gold…

Zoran: Presidente? Really? Is not Bob from Accounts?? I was thought Australian Presidente wears stupid abookra hat everywhere? This guy really look like Bob from Accounts, you know, with the hot wife?

Vasil: Shhh, no, is not Bob, this is Kayrudd, he truly presidente from Australia!! He biggest dork in Pacific, but Aussie peoples love him, for his eyebrows and he giving them money to vote for him all the time, so be friendly!!

Most US presidents have kept pets - and not just busty interns who can’t keep their mouths shut. Barack Obama has promised his daughters that they can get a dog; their choice slightly narrowed by the allergies of one of his girls.

Sometimes too much, sometimes too little

Freedom of choice, unless it’s the wrong style dress on Election Day!