Spill some more

A couple of passing spambots asked me to explain a little more about the topics addressed in yesterday's post. Happy to, friends. Yay auspol. I mean, I was just about to go to sleep but my phone beeped and it was the Guardian alerting me to an article Katharine Murphy's just filed, so OK sure let's talk about it all some more. (I had actually begun to wonder if the comments thing on my blog is borked, before the spam appeared, but it seems to be working fine, everything else may well be very much broken but the comments thing on my blog = hunky dorky!)

I took a two-hour bath this evening and while I lay there, poaching gently in the most deliciously slimy soup of oats, honey, epsom salts, glycolic acid and jasmine oil, I succeeded in identifying the origin of the mental picture that's been in my mind all day. I meant it when I said that when a fascist gets rolled it's a little glowing point of heat and light, regardless of the indisputable fact that the replacement is invariably someone worse. I could see these little glowing objects, so vividly that I knew I must be drawing on a strong impression but I couldn't immediately place it.

The image came from a book I read when I was about the age Lenny is now:



Tony Abbott is not a man I would ever get into any sort of dispute with, if I could possibly help it. He's fucking terrifying. Obviously he'll stop at nothing now that this is happening. There is a depressing line in the abovementioned Murphy article to the effect that some Coalition women have spoken about being intimidated by numbers-garnerers. I thought of Abbott this morning when a man on a bike, riding faster than me and much more aggressively, gave me some unusually loud and proximate verbal shit on the street.

What is it with these creeps? I mean really. I actually want to know. It turns out that nobody even knows who Peter Dutton is, so the whole Heinrich Himmler act, who was that for the benefit of if not for the creeps of Australia? I guess it must've been either for his close personal creepy friends, or maybe just for his own private enjoyment.

I walked down the hill to buy lunch today and I spent $10 on an egg sandwich that I definitely didn't want, even before I found out there was also tomato in there, and I saw this lying on the ground:



There really are a lot of people around with nothing better to do than be absolutely revolting to each other. This is why I need to spend so much time washing. Also Vinnie is an utter bastard. He lay on my bed all day and left a Mrs Bates-style depression coated in horrible chunks of fur in exactly the place I am reclining now. In the morning when Leonard wakes up he will come and get into bed with me (Leonard will, not Vinnie) and he'll leave the door open (Leonard will, that is) and then he'll come in and claw his way up onto my pillow and crouch there just behind and to the right of my head, purring and kneading and clawing at my hair like a smelly, hairy, weird, easily pleased pervert (Vinnie I mean, not Leonard.) And a couple hours after that we'll have a new prime minister. Time to change the batteries in the smoke alarms.