The principle of “Calligula’s Horse” occupies an office situated in a provincial queensland town.
As he looks out his front window he’s engaged with the same scene he’s seen for the best part of 59 years of his boring life.
Directly opposite is a corner shop once owned by the parents of his first friend in life.
She happened to be of the female gender. His first ‘girlfriend’.
As he turns his head he looks out to the frontispiece of a state primary school.
Getting back to the corner store facing this situation -
Her pop managed to make enough money to purchase property directly next door to his original shop.
He built new premises there and sold on his original corner holding to people wanting to establish a ‘fish and chip shop’.
That worked in amicable accord for a while until Jock Stockwell (I’m not kidding, that was his name) decided to retire from small time commerce despite having established a small but vital commercial centre in a place and at a time when doing that sort of thing was not usually recognized.
Anyway he’d had enough of the bullshit.
Which meant that, all in a rush, my very best childhood friend went off to secondary school in Brisbane at the same time I had to begin that adventure here in bunderbore.
Meanwhile, over the road – since about AD 1965 – when Jock and his family departed the scene – we have seen quite a number of punters buy into that dump.
None of them have ever managed to make a go of it – though some have lasted longer than others.
Some in the past have strung out their tenure by doing deals with local fishermen.
Essentially pulled a few swifties by evading state laws about the fishing industry.
But none of those in the past have ever acted like complete scoundrels.
Not until the last lot of complete shiteheels.
That’s because none of the previous were ever into brewing methamphetamine and fuck only knows what else.
It could be assumed that this is the sort of thing necessary to service the mining industry.
Just set up an industrial scale meth lab and clean up the production residue with an industrial scale ozone generator – then who gives a fuck for the people living downwind.
I suppose that there’ll be enough fuckwits and chemically challenged pigdogs laughing at what I say here.
I’m also reasonably confident the shits poisoning us will read this soon.
I’m also confident that their pals in our local polizei will be giving us grief about this in the next few days.
But that is how stuffed queensland has become.
I spent some time again today contacting the ‘official services’ supposedly established to help the citizen with this sort of nausea.
‘Go fuck yourself’, they said.
So what if I turned that around and dealt with our drug dealers the same way?
Come on Newman.
What if I offered the pals of your police minister the same outcome as they have shouted through our front window.
Should I/We take the option of escalation when confronted with death threats from smarmy, pig ignorant, hopelessly challenged, drug crazed fuckwits, lurking annoyingly, just over the road?