Battle of the Leos: Hark v. Howard
Harold Hark
20 August 2003

Celebrations were held throughout the land-
Fill upon which stands the cardboard house
Designed by philistine architects and
Built by greedy developers
All of whom are this day
Dying horrible screaming deaths by cancer
Inhabited by Harold Hark and family
On the occasion
Of his 64th birthday.

Upon waking this morning with a sprained big toe (from kicking the sheet metal fence of the neighbours up the street, whose snarling dogs lunge at it every time someone walks by), and a headache (from a blow to the temple by a wilful Hills Hoist whipping round malevolently in yesterday's wind), I realised we don't have a single CD by the Beatles. What a relief! We didn't have to play Paul McCartney's obligatory music hall ditty:

Will you still need me
Will you still feed me
When I'm 64

Sharing this day with me is none other than Slobodan Milosevic, the Leo tyrant who shares many psychological deficits with our own Leo dog whistler, John Howard. Though Slobodan, the whippersnapper, is but 62.

It has long been a source of embarrassment to share birthdays with Slobo, but sharing the star sign with Magoosolini is downright insulting. It's bad enough that I am routinely likened to his namesake, Benito, but to have the sign further degraded by a man who more resembles a weasel than a lion, is cause for outrage.

Leos! What have we done to deserve them?

No one escapes life without knowing a Leo or three. Because they demand to be noticed, we are forced to either love or endure them. The bane of office parties and other social gatherings, they start out unsure of themselves, often making inappropriate repartee. But once they relax (an alien state for your socialising Leo), usually through imbibing copious amounts of alcohol, there is no stopping their determination to become the life of the party.

With luck the Leos we know are clever and entertaining. Having overcome the inner certainty that they have no idea what they are talking about (they rarely think things through), they proceed to eat all available space.

Beware the solicitous Leo! They will ask you how you are, but before you can open your mouth they will tell you how they are. They will ask for your opinion, but in the instant you've taken to gather your thoughts, they've already launched into theirs.

They are rarely boring, but after awhile their pronouncements, pontifications and relentless humour are tiring. They may indeed be the most knowledgeable, the wisest, the funniest persons alive, but even if they are, you just want to run away...perhaps to the doctor to have your blood pressure checked.

Leo's can rarely compromise. To do so knocks the foundations from under their jerry-built personas.

They are attention seekers who need to be loved and admired, but these qualities must be earned from noble efforts, however small in scale. If they achieve power beyond their capacity, beyond their ability to comprehend an authentic experience of life, they are capable of devastation.

Like Milosevic, John Howard is a Leo who lives within a moral vacuum. When such a Leo gains power without a moral centre he loses all sense of direction other than the preservation of his bloated ego. Without nobleness of purpose, such a Leo attempts to insure his glorification by any means possible. From the howling desert wind of his shrinking heart will pour forth a determination to sacrifice any and all, his nation's well-being and the lives of outsiders, in the attempt to prove that he has, or ever had, integrity. He will kill others to save the lives of those who are loyal to him. But if their loyalty should waver, he will treat them as if they never existed. The Leo's loyalty is ultimately to him or herself only. He will devastate his nation in order to save it from the devastation of his enemies; invariably enemies of his sociopathic making. For no other reason than to make people admire and love him, he will drive them to hate him.

Yours truly, on the other hand, is a noble Leo with a strong moral centre and an abiding devotion to all that is good and just. Moreover, I have never ever faced a social gathering of non-plussed, pain-faced, coat-grabbing, door-opening, car-starting, tire-screeching escapees.

Ha-ha. Ho-ho. Hee-hee.

At least I am assured by my long-suffering wife that while she may no longer need me, she will still feed me. Further, I am in good company. Phillip Adams, national living treasure who shares the sign, has also just turned 64.

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