Okay red team, it’s time to pork barrel

Regular readers of this column will know that Wanda has a skill for getting the most out of a piece of roast pork.

The meat will melt in your mouth, and the crackling will make the chefs at the local carvery blush.

Enough about Wanda’s talents.

It’s time we loaded up. On pork barrelling, I mean.

Remember all the fuss about Inala and the way the Queen P was thought to be spending her way into the hearts of her local electorate?

Coincidence can be a timely thing, and there’s no denying the down-trodden people of Inala needed a helping hand.

We all need good roads, upgraded schools, transport facilities.

And before we start imploring upon our local members of the big house to partake in activities which may be seen by those outside the southeast corner of this fine state to be untoward, let’s reflect.

We have almost 400,000 people now living in the City of Logan, one hospital, lots of rail promises, and a big road that’s been getting stuck at Springwood due to roadworks that will inevitably, one day, fix everything.

We should be grateful.

Time however, is running thin, and with our mayor and MPs draped in robes of red, our passage to the rivers of gold aren’t looking particularly rosy.

You see, it’ll be the blue corner’s time soon.

Until then, our territory still houses the overlord of the coffers, master of energy, emperor of health and the monarch of all things digital, scientific and innovative, not to forget the guardian of the national jewels who’s just handed out energy tokens to Albo’s people.

This group of privileged folk have access to the beans which can make the land on which we live grow fast and prosperous.

They have the keys to the castle and all its riches.

And while they may feel melancholy, this group of marvellous ministers have but five months until their fate is determined by those who live in places that are far more undecided than our own.

So party like it’s 1999, or a more recent year. Paint the town red.

Steal from the rich, and give us more.

Do it before your hands are tied and you’re left screaming in the big house from opposition, spending more time belittling decisions than making them.

If I haven’t been clear enough in my Medieval lark, I’m saying let’s make hay while the sun shines, throw that baby out with the bath water, seize the day, put our $1000 energy rebate into our bank accounts.

Sign off on construction of a public transport system that works, and roads that allow traffic to flow.

Put more teachers into our schools, and nurses into our hospital that now copes with more emergencies than anywhere else.

While you’re at it, ensure all the police graduates are put to practise on criminals in our patch.

Whatever you have spent on the local lands, double it. Triple down. 

Let loose dear ministers, because now is the time to take the pork out of the oven and into a big fat barrel with Logan’s name on it.

I can see it now, made of oak used to vintage a fine wine.

You’ll have signed off on so much gold that we’ll be rolling around in our fortune like happy Lotto winners for the next four years, oblivious to the whistling tune of a skinny man in a necktie.

In honour of your good deeds, our kingdom will follow the lead of our current premier to burn all ties. 

We’ll sit back and wallow in our wealth, just like that pig we took from its muddied pen to barrel.

You, in the meantime, will disembark from the limelight in the knowledge that you have done well for your people.

Prizes for everyone, like Oprah.

Hey Wanda, I’m off to take a shower. I’m not sure why, but I’m feeling a little dirty.

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