I am glad that at long last the ABC has exposed the toxic sexual atmosphere that exists in Parliament House, Canberra and, indeed, throughout the whole political structure. We owe the national broadcaster a great deal for exposing the seething, moral swamp that pretends to be the serene cradle of our democracy. Those who inhabit it act out the charade that they are motivated by the highest standards of personal and public behaviour when, as Four Corners has clearly shown, this is nothing but a veneer and, in reality, the principal actors of the political drama live in a world where lust, harassment and entrapment rule the day. Moreover, now that the ABC has performed such a public service by exposing this cesspool, it behoves us to reflect on our own experience and whether it provides more evidence that we can add to this sad litany of sexual oppression of the innocent. I hope, therefore, that I can now add my own experience to show how morally perilous it has been for some of us who have gone into politics to serve the common good, but who found ourselves entwined in the evil tentacles of the scheming females who have tried to corrupt us.
First, I should add that this is a true story and that only the names have been changed to protect the guilty. Next, it may surprise you, but when I was a young member of parliament, I was generally thought to be good looking. At election time I had trouble choosing the most becoming photographs of myself for posters and advertisements because there were simply so many from which to choose. But I had no idea that my matinee-idol good looks would send female members of the Labor party into such paroxysms of lust and desire. But they did. I had noticed for some time the curious note that had crept into conversations I had with the wife of my friend Jeremy, one of the prominent figures in the Labor party in my electorate when we met at mayoral balls, church bazaars, Aboriginal smoking ceremonies and rallies to save the crested tomtit. Prior to this sea change, she (the lady in question, I mean, not the crested tomtit) had been the usual string-lipped socialist, perpetually whingeing about the poor and the so-called underprivileged. But now, a subtle change crept over her discourse and she started to complain about the outrageous rate of tax on the highest income earners, a subject of spell-binding interest to socialists, as most of them had to pay it. Then she advanced the argument that the government of William McMahon might not be entirely bad, after all. At first, I thought she must be mad to be promoting such a ludicrous proposition, but it slowly dawned on me that there was something more sinister afoot and that she was trying to curry favour with me to achieve some more rational objective than a desire to save the sinking ship of the McMahon government. In fact, I came to realise that I was being groomed.
But nothing could prepare me for the shock of what happened shortly thereafter. I had retired to my virginal couch one night after an exhausting day administering to the needs of my constituents and in the hope that I might seize a few hours repose before resuming the labours of Hercules in the morning. I was asleep when the telephone rang at about 3 a.m. and to my surprise it was the said lady on the telephone. I realise, of course, that I should now give her a name and I think Jezebel is probably close enough, for that is what she was. ‘What do you want?’, I cried, but looking back on it, that was a pointless question, for a woman telephoning a good-looking young man at 3 a.m. can want only one of a very limited range of options. But she pressed on by replying: ‘I want to come and see you. Now.’ ‘Where is Jeremy?’ I asked. ‘He’s in bed asleep.’ She then advanced her proposal with further and better particulars which, as this is a family magazine, I will not repeat. Suffice to say that my original suspicion of her objectives was confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt, on the balance of probabilities and beyond a reasonable doubt.
I can tell you that I came closer to ruin than Ulysses when he tied himself to the mast to avoid the blandishments of the siren sisters. It was only my strength of character that enabled me to pull through and escape from the feminine wiles being woven around me and live to serve the Australian people for several more illustrious years. But just imagine if I had not been as resolute as I turned out to be. I could have ended up like the two federal ministers whom Four Corners showed conclusively to have been ensnared in the honeytrap laid for them by two scarlet women.
So the ABC was right to expose the scheming females who go to Canberra on the pretext of making what they call a contribution, when in reality their sole objective is to entrap unsuspecting men in positions of power by enticing them into the demi-monde of the Canberra bar scene and delude them into believing that they have found true love. This mirage, of course, evaporates with the morning mist. But in the meantime, they are happy to be supported on the arm of a minister, take the free drinks and the embassy dinners, the chance to meet the Queen and be privy to the affairs of state, not to mention the occasional snog.
It is therefore good that the ABC is living up to its charter and exposing the toxic world of Canberra where innocent men are led astray by conniving women. Moreover, inspired by the ABC, we are now banding together to protect ourselves under the banner of a vibrant new movement, #MeToo,Mate!
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