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DAYS OF FEAR AND LOATHING – THE AGE OF THE MASK

I'm venting while I still can...

This Plague goes on and on, doesn’t it?

 

World without end.

 

And here, in beaut Australia, we are discovering things about ourselves which I feel will impact on our social consciousness for a long time – much like a tomahawk blow to the forehead.

 

But before I discuss the splitting of skulls with edged weapons, some perspective perhaps…

 

There 339 active cases of Plague in Australia at the time of this writing, which is about 9am on 2 July, 2021.

 

Our current population is, let’s say, 26,000,000.

 

So, if we had 100,000 cases of the Plague, that would mean 0.38 per cent of the population is en-Plagued, yes?

 

But with 339 cases, only 0.0013 per cent of the population is en-Plagued.

 

Over to India, which has a population of 1.4 billion, the Plague has en-Plagued 30,000,000 folks. That’s 0.2 per cent of the population.

 

My maths may be wrong, in which case I trust you will point that out to me.

 

I will proceed on the premise it is correct.

 

So in terms of how much plague we got in our population, the only conclusion I can draw is: Not much.

 

But the fear is strong in the sub-human garbage that purports to lead us. Not for the Plague, of course. They have no fear of the Plague for it shall not touch them. You will recall Scummo From Jesus Pfizered himself ages ago.

 

What they fear is losing power. That is all any Australian government has feared for at least the last two decades.

 

None of them fear being overthrown in a whirlwind of fire, broken glass, and power-pole-mounted gibbets. They all know we proud descendants of Ned Kelly (hallowed be His name) do not roll like that. And never will. We just trash-talk.

 

I can dimly remember there was a time when you got the feeling the bastards in charge at least gave the appearance of giving a shit about us. They seemed to care about the poor, the weak, and the downtrodden among us. They legislated stuff that made our lives vaguely worth living in terms of being easier and more rewarding.

 

That has certainly stopped.

 

We now have something else. And we, amazingly, seem alright about that.

 

At the very top, we have this fat, smirking, shit-clump, who has opened his arse-pit to accept the Cock of Jesus so deeply, he can feel the holy mushie-head bruising his lungs. He loves this Plague for it heralds the Rapture.

He has surrounded himself with alleged rapists, vicious ex-cops, thieves, liars, spivs, Karens, and monkeys with greased tree-branches up their dates, and beats the drums of war at the Bat Empire because the Rapture can’t come fast enough. His best mate is maniac who house-sits for him while searching for sewer-dwelling pedophiles who drink the blood of kidnapped children and await the advent of outer-space lizards on our soil.

 

Scummo’s ally in power is a lecherous provincial drunk renowned for slurping at the overgrown piss-flaps of his staff, and whose antics once forced a previous Prime Minister to issue an edict banning the insertions of Senatorial cock into female employees.

 

These slime-filled Federal worms have dismissed the need for anything resembling Quarantine Stalags – even though we have a few which are used to torture brown people for the welfare of the State – and have instead been funnelling our Plague-ridden arrivals into second-rate hotels, from which the Plague-ridden escape with religious regularity…um, because hotels.

 

But Scummo keeps saying the hotels work great – and no-one has yet taken issue with that by throwing a bucket of you-lie-acid on him. And no-one will.

 

The states have been reconfigured into self-serving, totalitarian Duchies governed by megalomaniacal fuck-trumpets.

 

The bin-chicken in NSW looks like Klinger from MASH, and whose sidekick is a vicious and seemingly corrupt fascist who uses anti-terror cops to brutalise comedians.

 

The horse-legged cum-bucket in Queensland cannot pronounce her own name, but shares power with an obese cock-scab of a billionaire who is dumber than a golf club.

 

There’s a struggling cripple in Victoria whose political opponents have accused him of touching little girls, an effort which earned him a broken back and some time off.

 

I do not even know what kind of gormless reptile wields power in South Australia, but it has managed to lockdown its citizens without a single case of the Plague being present.

 

There is a fiery Warlord in WA, who has all but seceded from the rest of the country with the joyous approval of his citizens, and who will soon seek an alliance with whoever can provide him with tanks, bombers, and missiles, which he will use to make sure no-one comes near his mineral-rich desert.

 

That leaves the NT and Tasmania. One is boiling hot so the Plague cannot survive, and one is freezing cold so the denizens are immune – and since no-one from overseas has visited either place since the Plague began, everything is fine. Probably.

 

In terms of vaccination, the waters are dark. There are two types of vaccine – Astra-Zeneca and Pfizer. We have lots of the first and not much of the second. The first is less efficacious than the second, which is why our politicians took the second, but left the first for us – and they got in on special and it was cheap, so yeah.

 

But we are confused. And we have done our Facebook research, so we know stuff.

 

We know that Astra-Zeneca sometimes causes our organs to melt into dice-sized blood-clots, which is bad. So we don’t want that one, but we can’t have the other one, unless we’re over or under a certain age, whereupon we are expendable, or our organs are resistant to thrombosis, but we don’t know for sure.

 

We know the Pfizer stuff is from another planet, and made by aliens, and so it’s very effective, except when it bloats your heart up like a balloon and eats your chromosomes. And we can have this one, but not yet, because the politicians may need more of it.

 

We haven’t bothered to totally vaccinate old people, firies, ambos, nurses, doctors, teachers, toilet-paper makers, or anyone necessary for the running of stuff, but I’m pretty sure every single cop has been immunised against the Plague for all time.

 

And they need to be, I guess. It’s because since the coming of the Plague, the male swine have cultivated erections so vast and blood-filled they could bust rocks with them, and the female swine can barely walk due to the enlargement and engorgement of their cock-holsters. They are also eternally lubricating with lust like grease-guns vacuuming out an industrial sludge trap.

 

They have come into their own, these organs of the State. This is the time they’ve dreamed of their entire lives. In fact, since they were embryos feeding off the stomach-lining of a giant mutant sow, they have keened for a time like the Plague has brought us.

 

They are now free to enforce anything they like with any amount of force they like. They can make it up as they go along, because we can and will do nothing.

 

In the beginning, it was all about Flattening The Curve. No-one even speaks about The Curve anymore. One does not know if it has been satisfactorily flattened, or even if it exists. And no-one cares.

 

We lick the windows with renewed gusto each time a new Plague variant is revealed unto us. We are at Plague Delta now. Delta is the fourth letter of the Greek alphabet. There’s a shit-tonne of a way to go before we reach Omega, which is the last letter of the Greek alphabet. On the way there, we promise to act surprised each time the Plague mutates, because it’s like we have just discovered that viruses mutate – like X-Men – even though we’ve known how viruses roll for a long time now.

 

Maybe we forgot? Yeah, what with all the excitement of the footy and the Olympics – where our glorious molested swimmers will contend with the Bat Empire for supremacy in a Plague-rich pool on volcanic islands just east of the Empire of Dog-Eaters – we probably did forget.

 

One can only hope the national character that is built from this is actually worth something. But hopes only exist to be dashed against the rocks of reality, don’t they?

 

The Days of Fear and Loathing are well upon us. The Age of the Mask is here. It is the Time of the Police Truncheon and the Police Boot.

 

Stay inside your homes, bitches. That is where the Safety is. Unless you’re buying toilet paper. Then go your hardest.

 

Or haven’t you been listening?

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Boris Mihailovic

Boris is a writer who has contributed to many magazines and websites over the years, edited a couple of those things as well, and written a few books. But his most important contribution is pissing people off. He feels this is his calling in life and something he takes seriously. He also enjoys whiskey, whisky and the way girls dance on tables. And riding motorcycles. He's pretty keen on that, too.

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