Little Johnny's Repellent Adventure
Harold Hark
16 May 2003

See: Souvenir Photos From Little Johnny's Repellent Adventure

In Philippa Hawker's excellent Age article on memory, "You must remember this..." (3/5/03), she quotes writer Edward S. Casey: "To commemorate a war such as the Civil War or Vietnam is at the same time not to remember its many horrors, its unspeakable and even unthinkable mutilations and agonies. For an individual to recall the horrors is to undermine participation in the public event of commemoration."

Nevertheless, instead of using Anzac Day to draw a line in the sand against governments who go to war for no good reason, Australians once again remembered the glory, but not the slaughter and defeat, of Gallipoli.

No sooner had the flags been put away, than than the Prime Miserly released his User Pays or Dies Private Health Insurance package under the guise of Medicare reforms.

Howard knew the hapless Health Minister Kay Patterson wouldn't be up to the job, so he got himself on all the chump stations to spruik the swindle. But before he had the chance to give his routine ironclad guarantee that he would never ever non-core, in this case, universal health care, the reform was being met with derision.

Within 24 hours nearly everyone in the country came out against it.

The Age editorialised on 29 April: "The essence of this package is that it redesigns Medicare as a two-tier system, with bulk-billing for the poor--provided doctors accept the incentive payments, which is not certain--and some level of private cover for everyone else. It is a logical next step on the path that the Howard Government took when it introduced the 30 per cent rebate for those who hold private health insurance: a subsidy that now costs the taxpayer $2.2 billion a year. If Medicare is becoming too expensive to maintain as a system of universal cover, it is because the Government has been diverting resources into private cover. It is a choice that makes sense neither on grounds of efficiency nor of equity."

The National President of the Australian Medical Association, Dr Trevor Mudge, the Health Policy Officer with the Australian Consumers Association, Martyn Goddard, and the Doctors' Reform Society's Dr Con Costa, weighed in on PM, claiming the package was a bureaucratic nightmare that spelled the end of bulk billing and the indiscriminate rise of doctors fees.

Michael Costello wrote on 2 May:

What did the '70s and '80s Howard have to say about Medicare? That is was a "miserable cruel fraud", a "scandal", a "total and complete failure", a "quagmire", a "total disaster", a "financial monster" and a "human nightmare". He would "pull Medicare right apart" and "get rid of the bulk-billing system", which was an "absolute rort". He said he was going to confine bulk-billing to pensioners and to the disadvantaged, with doctors free to charge whatever fees they chose. Sound familiar? He said only pensioners and the disadvantaged should be entitled to free hospital care.

What did the new, 1995 Howard have to say? "We are going to keep Medicare lock, stock and barrel" and "unequivocally retain bulk-billing". Sincerity oozed from every pore.

Miraculously, the Pan Pharmaceutical scandal broke almost immediately. Miraculous is indeed the word, for every time John Howard is involved in a furore of his own making, something else always, always comes up to divert attention. The easily manipulated minds of post-1996 Australians were thus drawn away from the public rape of universal medical cover and led to the vastly more urgent fear that they might now suddenly overdose and go mad from the ground up leaves and powdered roots they'd been taking for years.

But the Plan B miracles that allow Wily John to get our of Plan A scrapes as if he were a used French Letter slipping off a limp member, are inevitably backed up by a Plan C, in case of further scrapes. Thus, mysteriously, the announcement of recalls was made several days before the Therapeutic Drugs Administration (a government body) had quite got all the information it needed (and before Medicare had quite got a full airing). Simon Crean and others now had to resort to the back pages of newspapers to ask why the Government had not acted earlier or why it didn't wait until all the information was at hand. The Democrats accused the TGA of launching the biggest recall in history without backing it up with that essential information. But the people were too busy checking their Aust R/L numbers to listen.

Then, before the final list of potentially contaminated therapeutics was completed, the Archbishop-General, Peter Hollingworth, was in the slithery-slimies again. You'll remember him from such famous allegations as The 14-year-old Girl Who Came On To A Priest. "Hey, it happens all the time," seconded his master from behind Janette's skirt. "Now, let's get on to something important, like our Aussies in the West Indies."

Yes, just as the Australian betrothed was about to fly to the arms of his beloved in Texas, Brisbane's Anglican Church released its inquiry into Hollingworth's handling of child sexual abuse complaints while Archbishop of Brisbane. In particular the inquiry found that Hollingworth's compassionate treatment of pedophile priest John Elliot was misplaced and that the compassion should have been extended instead to Elliot's victims.

Calls for Hollingworth's resignation or sacking were made for the umpteenth time, but the man who employed him as a loyal sycophant would have none of it. "Peter Hollingworth may even have been a serial killer while Archbishop of Brisbane, but he has done nothing wrong while fulfilling his duties as Archbishop-General. I will not sack him."

In the midst of all this hubbub, the PM's man for a 19th century world's best practice in communications, Richard Alston, announced the appointment of Ron Brunton to replace Michael Kroger on the ABC's board of directors. Brunton, who believed the Stolen Generations Report was hogwash, is a former member of the Liberal Party, a former member of the Institute of Public Affairs, and a former employee of the intelligence agency, Office of National Assessments, giving him the conservative credentials needed to carry on the mission of retiring board member Michael Kroger (merchant banker and high placed operator in the Liberal Party), who had valiantly tried to bring the ABC in line with the Coalition's model of unbiased right wing reporting, Pravda.

While Hollingworth was trying to understand what all the fuss was about, L'il Dubya flew away to Umeruhca to celebrate our great nation's victory over Eastasia. Or was it Oceania? No, wait, it was l'il ol' Eyerack. "Gosh," said the PM, his thoughts already slipping into the down home twang of his one and only, "being a suburban solicitor in General's clothing sure makes it hard. Oops," he giggled, looking sheepishly at mummy Janette. "I said a naughty thing." "That's all right, dear" she soothed, "you can't help but be influenced by all this stuff and nonsense surrounding Peter. The President will take your mind off things. And Farmer Jon will look after Peter. He'll know what to do."

But Farmer Jon didn't know what to do and everything got worse.

The PM and his wife were picked up by President Georgie in San Francisco and flown to his ranch on the biggest aeroplane Little Johnny had ever seen: Air Force One! On the way, the boys got to trade stories about how everyone pretended to like them 'cause they were so powerful. Little Johnny took a deep breath and mentioned the free trade deal. "You promised, George." Georgie looked at him in that quizzical way he has of not letting everyone know he's not thinking of anything at all. "Free trade?" The only sound breaking the ensuing silence was the air Georgie wished he could figure a way of taxing as it swooshed by the lean lines of the "Big Fella" (Georgie's pet name for Air Force One). "Oh, yeah. We'll talk about that over ribs 'n grits at the barbecue." Little Johnny's bowels nearly gave way from relief. After all, he was going to make his people fork out nearly a billion dollars for his part of the deal. "Now I got a treadmill here to keep me fit," boomed George. "Wanta try it?" "N-n-no thanks," squeaked Little Johnny, "but you go ahead. Janette and I will look out the window at the scenery." And they watched the unbroken blue of the sky with rapt attention until they got bored and then they watched manly George exercise for over two minutes until he got bored. Soon, they were all sitting around staring at each other.

During festivities that afternoon, Georgie and his guest stood before podiums on a desolate paddock in Georgie's back yard and talked of their love for one another. Little Johnny said: "We respect each other very much," trying with all his might not to sound mealy-mouthed. Then it was Georgie's turn. "I'm gonna call my friend Jim Howard here a 'man of steel' (applause) after the man we model our government on, none other than, er," turning to an aide, "his name's, Joseph, right? Don't you shush me! Oh, yeah, Ronald. Heh-heh, well folks, right model, wrong name. Hell, I jes' can't help tellin' it like it is. Anyway, for his participation in making the United States of Umeruhca safe for investors and safe from all those funny colored folks out there wanta do us harm, I'd like to hear a big round of applause." Cheers abounded. Little Johnny's chest swelled with pride...he was a man of steel! But Janette's elbow in his ribs reminded him that Dearly Beloved had got his name wrong again. "It's OK, Janette," he hissed. "Heads of state always get my name wrong. At least he didn't call me Saddam."

"Saddam Howard, er, I mean, Saddam Hussein, 'scuse me Jim, is on the run thanks to great fellers like Mr Howard here, and I'm gonna do my best to instigate a free trade agreement 'tween our two great countries. We owe this boy from down there, ladies and gennulmen." More cheers.

Later on, with both boys full to pussy's bow from the great Texas chow, Georgie asked Little Johnny if he'd like to ride a horsy. Now the little Digger's always been scared to death of horsies, or anything bigger than a baby, for that matter, but, as the Deputy Sheriff of the Antipodes, he couldn't let on to Georgie. Fortunately, Janette stepped in and said they would rather have a rest.

That night, Little Johnny was literally hopping up and down with excitement. He was not only about to have his first sleepover with a big powerful head of state, but with the most powerful of them all! The boys played and rough-housed together and it was just the cutest thang you ever saw. They played games like Pin The Skull on the Cluster-bombed Corpse and toasted each other with spout cups full of Kool Aid. Now, Georgie was a teetotaller so he couldn't drink alcohol, but he was also a practical joker. He took his servants aside when mommy wasn't looking and got them to lace Johnny's Kool Aid with White Lightnin', which made the little Ossie act real funny. Georgie's servants laughed themselves silly until they were excused so they could go puke from shame into the lidless toilets in their quarters out back with Barney the dog. "Let's toas' ta th' dumb shits keep us in pahrer," mock-slurred Georgie. "Good on 'em," tottered Little Johnny, "they're-ut makes our great countries...er, great!" Georgie laughed a little, so Johnny rolled on the floor with appreciative hyuck-like guffaws. "An' Saddam," said Johnny, "without him we'd still be having t'deal with d'mestic issues." Georgie started to laugh, then suddenly went pale. "But we ain't caught 'im yet." "Strewth!" said the little PM, biting his big lower lip and hoping he hadn't made Georgie mad.

Mommies Laura and Janette looked at each other like Waltons always do when it's time for beddybyes at the Little House on the Prairie. They decided the boys had had enough. They pulled off their jeans and chaps and little holsters with real guns and made them put on their jammies. The boys brushed their teeth and made faces at each other in the mirror. "It's time for prayers, boys," mommy Laura called out. And so Georgie and Little Johnny knelt by their cots and prayed to God to forfeit the freedoms of all those who wanted to trespass against them. "Git 'em Gawd," said Georgie as he crossed himself backwards, and Little Johnny giggled hysterically. He knew it wasn't right to make fun of God, but if Georgie could, he guessed it was all right. "Shush now," said Laura, proud of her little emperor, but always on the alert for recidivist tendencies. Then the mommies tucked the boys in their beds and they were soon fast asleep. Georgie dreamed his favourite dream, where he puts his finger into a foreigner's eye socket and pulls out some maggots. Little Johnny dreamed his favourite dream too. The one where he gets to be scorekeeper for the Australian Test cricket team as they win every match in all the known universes, parallel or otherwise.

Well, wasn't the next night just a treat? Where did the boys go but to Not-The-Confederates Stadium up there in New York. George always said a prayer when he went north of the Mason-Dixon Line, which meant he prayed a lot 'cause that's where he works.

Yep, the New York Not-The-Confederates were getting slaughtered by the Oakland Arseholes, but that didn't stop the fans from giving Little Johnny a half-standing ovation when his face appeared on the giant screen. "The Prime Minister of Austria, ladies and gentlemen" is what the announcer wanted to say, suppressing his mirth to make the correct announcement. And then the band played "Advance Australia Fair" and some Sailors held flags aloft just behind second base, and all the players applauded, what the hell, why not.

Little Johnny was interviewed over the stadium's sound system and talked about how swell baseball was but cricket was better. He spoke at length about how big American sportsmen were compared to Aussies, and of the photo of Babe Ruth and Donald Bradman taken together, which he treasured as much as a signed photo from the Queen. Well, almost as much. Actually, by the time he got to England, he would probably treasure the Queen more, but that was politics for you, hee hee. He went on to tell snoozing fans about the great pressies he and Janette got from George and Laura and about the great pressies he and Janette gave to George and Laura. He was about to mention his shoe size, when he was gently moved aside by minders, trainers, secret service agents, and a representative of the Peanuts and Popcorn and Crackerjacks Association who was about to lodge a complaint, claiming that sales had fallen dramatically during the two hour lull.

Meanwhile, back in Australia, the anti-antics of the PM's man in Catatonia, Peter Hollingworth, were getting bigger headlines than he was. In fact, Australians had almost forgotten the Prime Minister existed. More and more politicians were coming out of the pedophile protection closet to suggest in the vaguest terms that the A-G should reconsider his position in the light of blah, blah, blah.

The PM was kept informed on an hourly basis of the scandal, professing to a bout of the jitters over the fortunes of the Australian Test cricket team in the West Indies. Would they rightly reclaim their title as the world's best test team? God, how he agonised.

When the day finally came for he and Georgie to part, tears welled in Little Johnny's eyes. "Now, Jim, don't be a bawlbaby," chided Georgie. That was easy for the President to say, thought Little Johnny. He knew Georgie had other loves and worse, was a lot more fickle. Little Johnny prided himself on his loyalty; he would never ever love anyone more than George! He wished he wasn't so loyal. Why, the number of ministers he hadn't fired for corruption over the years was surely testimony. And Peter Hollingworth! If that didn't prove his devotion to loyalty, what on earth did?

When their mommy/wives weren't looking, the boys ducked into the Oval Office and embraced warmly, vowing to see each other as often as they could.

Waving goodbye with the all the emotion he had learned from handbooks on how heads of state should behave in grave or triumphal moments, he and Janette disappeared into the plane.

At last it was time to go to London to see the Queen.

But first he and Janette presented British PM and invasion-mate Tony Blair with a 50th birthday present: a half dozen bottles of Ben Ean Moselle. When Blair showed him French President Jacques Chirac's pressie--six bottles of Chateau Mouton Rothschild, valued at $A600 each, our Johnny said, "Well, well, well, that's not all. Here's a coffee mug I bought in Texas with all our pictures on it, you, me, Georgie, er George, and Asnar. And anyway, our dollar's not worth as much as your pound or Chirac's euro. I mean, it's the spirit of the thing..."

In spite of this prickly moment, the two spoke warmly of one another. Little Johnny said: "I can very happily and readily say that I like Tony Blair." But I don't love him, he thought. And Tony Blair said" "We couldn't have done it without Mr Howard." Well, we could have, he said under his breath, and mostly did, but those Aussie soldiers have that certain Kamikaze quality that everyone loves. Our troops just refuse to die on someone else's whim, the cowards.

Then it was truly off to see the Queen. Janette always goes a little stiff on these visits. She doesn't mind the puppy love between her husband and the President of the United States, but the Queen is a threat to her motherhood. Deep down, Janette knows Little Johnny would rather put his head in the Queens lap than hers.

"Now, then," began the Queen, after the opening bows and curtsies, "about that Peter..." "Hollingworth," Johnny responded helpfully. "What do you plan to do?" the Queen wanted to know. "Um, er, uh," he stammered, thoughts still back in the land he so wanted Australia to be like, right down to the mistreatment of its poor, especially its sickly poor. "I think I'll just let it blow over, Your Majesty." "I expected as much," said she with her inimitable impersonation of Gerry Connolly. "Let's have lunch."

And then it was over. He'd been the toast of an illegitimate president who, it had to be admitted, had stolen his presidency with a lot more finesse than Saddam Hussein had stolen his. Or, for that matter, than John Howard had stolen his. The last one, not the previous two.

Had the Queen been a little, shall we say, distant? He didn't dare ask Janette. She might round on him in the worst of ways. He wished she'd gone straight home from Not-The-Confederates Stadium. He always felt constrained in his worship of the Queen when she was there.

Just before they boarded the flight to Qatar to fete the remaining invasionary forces who hadn't refused to drop dead from Anthrax shots, news came of the A-G's latest fiasco. Now he was being accused of rape! How could such a dull man cause so much trouble, the PM whined to himself as he munched on a crunchy peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a new taste treat Georgie had introduced him to. Of course he liked it better when the peanut butter was smooth. Georgie, man that he is, liked it crunchy. Oh, if only he were man enough to like crunchy peanut butter!

"Peter's a pain in the arse," quipped Janette. "Janette!" exclaimed Little Johnny, accidentally shooting a wad of masticated white bread and brown goo on to the back of The Age reporter Louise Dodson's head in the seat in front of him. "I'm sorry, Louise" "Not a problem, Mr Howard," she replied, wiping the gob out of a strand of hair, "I'm used to it by now."

A whistlestop visit to Aussie troops aboard the HMAS Kanimbla, berthed in the harbour at Doha in Qatar was to be the last before returning home. Little Johnny was asked if we would like to visit the southern cities of defeated Iraq. "Do I have to?" he mewled. "All those starving, thirsty and dirty people might want to come to Australia if they see its head of state. Besides, I might cry. I so hate to see devastation. But tell them the Australian nation is proud of its effort to liberate them from the evil dictator. Their present suffering, owing to the destruction of infrastructure and the continuing failure of all those utilities such as, you know, electricity, water and sewage, will be fixed within the decade. And those who haven't died of cholera, malaria and what-have-you, or at least their children, if they have any, will thank us with all their hearts."

So Little Johnny hung around Doha for awhile, drinking beer with members of the RAAF who stood by with fixed grins. A member of 666 Squadron, Tyler Flange--his real name was withheld owing to a sense of shame which will one day cause him to commit suicide by impalement on the white picket fence of Mr Howard's retirement home--said that even though most Australians saw through the lies about going to war, most of his fellow soldiers, well a few of them, had never questioned whether it was right, wrong, or indifferent. They were the finest of both Coalitions, the one abroad and the one at home: mindless, subservient, and ever at the ready to terminate fellow human beings with extreme prejudice at the behest of nation wreckers. Further, the PM only had to say the word and they would be proud to wreck their own.

At concluding ceremonies, squadron castrato Hench Hollograsp sang an emotional song about Australian soldiers going home. Little Johnny, who wept the copious tears of a man who was enjoying his successful transition from alien to human being, was then asked if he had plans to invade more countries with little or no retaliation capabilities. Switching from sobs to hearty laughter with the ease of a quick adapter, he replied: "It's time to turn our attention back home, boys. The Motherland needs fixing."

"You're not thinking of invading your own country, are you?" Janette wondered on the flight home. It would be so good to be among decent white folk again. With her husband-cum-son's liberation of the right to call a spade a nigger and the new security laws allowing children to be cavity-searched for concealed opinions, she could breathe minority-free air once again.

"Don't be silly, Janette. We did that in 1996. I just wish the commentators would call it a coup, like it really was. I've always wanted to be a coup leader. Oh, well. One day the record will be set straight. Say, let's open a can of Spam, what say." And Janette withdrew from her handbag a vintage tin of Umeruhca's finest contribution to haute cuisine, given to Little Johnny with Georgie's parting kiss. "Kinda looks like a flayed cat," the Weasel who holds an entire nation in its yellow teeth declared lustily.

Within hours after setting down in his beloved Menziesland, the PM was on the chump channels and gin-in-a-jam-glass-for-brekkie radio stations pleading understanding for the beleaguered A-G. "Sure, I knew about the suppression order back in December, what's wrong with that? I'd suppress the lot of you if I could. Sure, I read the Brisbane inquiry, but it's not legally binding. Sure, it's not legally binding because I refused to call a Royal Commission and they had to do something, but it's still not legally binding. Sure, we spent a lot of money on a politically motivated Royal Commission into the building trades in Victoria, but as far as child abuse is concerned, I'd much rather spend the money figuring out why the little buggers can't keep their hands off grown, responsible men. And anyway, Peter never got natural justice from that inquiry, and I think that's reprehensible. Sure, he never said so at the time, but I'm saying it now. Why? Because I can. Let me reiterate, Peter is innocent until proven guilty, that's a tenet of fairness this great country is built on. Michael Kirby? David Hicks? Geoff Clark? Don't try to sidetrack me. The good people of Australia didn't vote for me three times because they can remember from one minute to the next what I've done, come on. Sure, Costello's budget will take away far more than it gives in those milk-shake-for-the-mugs tax breaks, but this is Maggie Thatcher country now and I'm proud to have done away with socialist concepts like "society". Education and medical care for the poor? What have they ever done for the Liberal Party? This is a robust nation of haves and have nots and the people who voted for me three times and will no doubt vote a fourth, as soon as I decide which double dissolution trigger to use, will forget all about whatever it was I just said and remember what I give them minutes before they vote. And you know what? I could tell them they have to give me their first born or suffer a further 10 per cent rise in the GST, and they'd still vote for me. And you know why? Because Kim Beazley still wants to replace Simon Crean."

And Little Johnny laughed and laughed and laughed. And all was again as it must be in the arsehole at the bottom of the world.

See: Souvenir Photos From Little Johnny's Repellent Adventure

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