La la land
‘Tis the season to be jolly, Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la, Don we now our gay apparel … Oops, I don’t think Don will doing any fa-la-a-la-ing this Christmas, and as for gay apparel, no thanks.
There seems little doubt in the minds of the posse of ABC and Fairfax feministas that the bloke who once seemed as genial as a garden gnome was actually not only a real Burke but also the greatest living threat to Australian women, with wandering hands and a line in sexually-charged language that would make a Tourette’s sufferer cop a plea of coprolalia.
Pages have been written about the television garden show host’s alleged behaviour toward women but given the number of women in very senior hosting roles in television over the years, why have these allegations taken so long to surface?
Sure, the television industry in Australia has been über-blokey, as has much of the media, but the outraged thundering does have a whiff of McCarthyism about it.
Would that the ABC and Fairfax thunderers have devoted a fraction of their aggression toward the very real attacks on the economic and social structure of the nation instead of saving all their powder for a showman who is as relevant today as a video cassette.
The rapid decline in Western democracy is, I believe, dear ladies, of far greater concern than the historic activities of an alleged low-rent antipodean Harvey Weinstein – and as the father of two women in the media I do not dismiss your anger out of hand, I just question your priorities.
However, whilst the consummate gardener was allegedly spewing forth his shocking utterances and allegedly groping those he worked with, a disproportionate number of male refugees were actually charged not only with domestic violence but also with actual rape.
I don’t recall many women in the media (apart from the handful of conservative commentators whom the sisterhood repeatedly reviles) making a song and dance about those attacks even though they appear to have been widely discussed at every level.
The politically correct blindness to real, very physical and very violent assault is of a part with the manner in which so many in the West are eager to grapple with the symbolic whilst ignoring the realities of the degradation of their society.
The old allegory of the frog in the slowly boiling saucepan is self-evident but the West is sleep-walking into its suicidal end.
Sex sells, as the gals from ABC and Fairfax well know, and no doubt the clicks kept coming but at the expense of the publicity which should have gone to the existential issues.
In Australia’s case, the foremost issue which should be attracting a Burkean level of alarm are the nation’s failed energy policies, state and federal.
It makes absolutely no sense to export coal to supply cheap power to commercial competitors in China and India whilst forcing up the cost of electricity domestically such that our own industry is forced to either close or relocate abroad.
The global warming argument doesn’t wash. That coal will be burnt overseas if not here and you and me and every other Australian will be the worse off because it is not being burnt here to supply consumers, domestic and industrial with the cheap power the nation needs to compete globally.
Burke’s alleged wholly unsavoury backyard activities are totally put in the shade by the wilful acts of South Australia, Victoria, Queensland and the federal government to make our industry uncompetitive.
Similarly, no spotlight has been focused on the spineless vice-chancellors of the major universities who have permitted ranting radical students to take over their campuses turning their institutions into putrid petri dishes of purulent socialism and virulent anti-Semitism.
Free speech, once cherished by academics, is now disdained. Open discussion is closed.
Students are protected from ideas that might challenge the Marxist orthodoxy. Trigger warnings, safe spaces, cotton wool to shield fragile minds from unpalatable and confronting truths.
Gender politics taught by moustachioed brutes who bizarrely identify as women seem to have swept through arts faculties.
Perhaps the militant homosexual movement with its indeterminate alphabetical sub-classes should visit a race track or a farm to get a clearer idea of what gender is.
Form guides describe mature thoroughbreds as either g, m or h. That is they are geldings, mares or entire horses (uncastrated).
The youngsters are c for colts or f for fillies until they turn four, according to my snouts at the track. Stallions are designated as such when they go to stand at stud.
Humans could thus be m, f, or w – for whatever, given the generally low public interest in the arcane world of the gender-confused and there is always g, for those who so choose.
Few events have been so distracting to the febrile political class over the last year as the issue misnamed as marriage equality.
Nor has any other issue highlighted the appalling hypocrisy of the virtue signallers with the grubs from the Greens and Labor and the Leftist wing of the Liberals (all of whom opposed the notion of asking the Australian people as proposed by Tony Abbott) later claiming glory when the silly survey was completed by nearly 80 per cent of those eligible.
Merry Christmas, Fa la la la La-La Land.
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