allthumbs June 25, 2012 at 11:55 am
Welcoming remarks, minuted at a meeting of the board of Fairfax.
If I were a man I’d swear by long hand on cock
But being of womanly ways, I swear my oath on ore and rock
To remove a trillion tons of Dreamtime’s best
And fulfill the dreams and prophecy, the superiority of the West.
With a Moon of iron in the ground and like measure in my soul
I will draw the magnetic needle from North to West
And a Nation’s people of their inheritance, their common wealth, divest.
I hear their plaintive cries, their protests, their oafish, egalitarian views,
But I shall bend their wills and change their minds,
I will provide them with their news.
And Clive and I will retaliate, with new technology and procreate,
A new family of Iron men and Bauxite women!
We shall have Lycra costumes made, with capes and masks and colours bold,
And we shall deliver serfdom and penury, a Titanic economy for young and old.
But justice is served, true nature celebrated, we have made our pitch,
It is more efficient and somewhat tastier, to eat the poor, than eat the rich.
gerard oosterman June 25, 2012 at 12:50 pm
When viewing Gina’s girth
Might contemplate a wider berth
Pretend a post coital nap, my advice
Or risk, blue murder by thunder thighs
You lay there, scared of her inner core
While she just dreams of endless ore
No poetry amongst material gain
More beauty in a house of rain.
hudsongodfrey June 25, 2012 at 5:37 pm
Limericks probably don’t count, but…
Gina who wants to buy Fairfax
Is not one for paying a fair tax
Both Palmer and her
Will dig evermore
While deniers substitute their facts.
johnsalmond June 25, 2012 at 6:28 pm
[This is for the 1pc everywhere]
I am the living god
I am Hancock’s Spawn.
You squeaking and scampering race of Men,
Mishapen mice around my mighty feet,
Beware my wrath.
There’s only so much nonsense I’ll put up with from the blind, ignorant and moneyless masses who understand not the awful might, the refulgent beauty, the sounding wisdom of endlessly multiplying dollars, pouring from the bowels of my Father’s earth, bequeathed by Him to me, who am His perfected essence: supreme, lone, glorious.
Await my further instructions.
steve dash June 26, 2012 at 1:53 pm
Gina oh Gina Dad’s prophecy came true
You thought it was all for you
It was really for the kids and theirs
But he sadly produced a heartless heir
A rosebud folly for daughter to rue
Has shaped a monster true and true
Name:
Gina Rinehart – Part I, Part II
I present to you a plot,
Thicker than most it is true,
In the sacred art of prose,
here is a story, that has been accrued.
The Queen of West Australia,
Gina Rinehart oh,
The miner’s poster child of glut,
Wednesday’s child of woe.
It all began with teething,
pedagogy gone astray,
Gina the veracious,
nearly tore the breasts away.
The silver nipples on the wet nurse,
Father’s apple, pride and joy,
They say she had a twin
and they say she ate the boy.
“This will all be yours one day, my girl,
But don’t you go astray,
Lang’s a name to fear round ere’
Stick with me an you’ll be okay.
For I treat the men well enough, you see
and I make no song nor dance
Do you see my dear? It’s a fine line we tread
between the admiralty and the ants”.
But Gina never loved the bloke,
and he did fail to see,
until it was too late that was,
what she had grown to be.
One little elephant packed er’ trunk,
That once was a little girl’
Encased in a stone cocoon of greed
her litigious wings, unfurled.
He shuffled orf old Jack Lang,
Robbed of his passionate throes with Rose,
Like a hamlet now in exile pacing,
The matriarch turned, and did she blow.
“Maaaaail -order- murder!
Lock up his heart and lungs!
Get me on four corners,
This has only just begun”.
In death bed discussions
The cake twas’ carved anew
A toast to Jandamarra’s tears
In a regal, “I love you.”
Rose fought hard, twas true
but How was she to know?
After fourteen years
she sold her last frock, and knew which way to go.
II
——————————————————————————————————————
Beneath the wobbly bridge,
of a truly fiduciary whale,
We join Jack Lang junior,
and continue the slimy tale.
Poor Middle-aged Tom Sawyer,
nursing his fishing rod blankly,
In a posse with his sisters
and his rich Chinese mate, Uncle Yangtze.
For one needs allies in this game,
Rose learned that all too well,
When Gina paid witnesses fortunes,
To swear that Rose was from Hell.
Yes three offspring wayward,
Once nursed behind triple brick walls,
When the going was good they got it,
now it seems Mum won’t answer their calls.
Some might have no sympathy,
To some it may just be funny,
To some though the three are proof,
that one can live off the smell of money.
Though Gina still has one pet,
one child that abstains from illicit back chat,
“Mummy I need a new Beamer, arha,
Mummy I love your new hat”.
There is astroturf on the horizon,
and to the rescue riding solo,
is the new class of warrior created,
The ex-pat, S-A-S-men gigolo.
Some seem so surprised though,
It indeed becomes controversial,
When Life turns out it’s not going to be
One big fat,
Tim Tam’s commercial.
Then came Ten and Fairfax,
All of this, after the fact
of the winged and wanton hacks,
Shrieking wildly “Axe the tax, axe the tax”.
“It’s my way or nothing”, she said,
Got so fat, couldn’t get out of bed,
Oh My yes things do seem right grim,
When the Queen of the place is a crim’.
While there are thousands of Andrew Bolts,
We can still have the peasant revolt,
But beware The deadly drones,
Patrolling Gina’s special economic zones.
June 26, 2012 at 6:04 am
Even I would vote for this good earth, this noble Soil!
(a late entry)
Lines in Praise of Ms Gina Rinehart (a poem in the style of William Topaz McGonagall)
Success came to Georgina, who married rich men
And to gainsay it, she entered their den,
Some love is wine, some love is rust,
But for Our Gina, it’s a family trust.
Gina started quite young, and to be perfectly Frank
She ran off overseas and married an old Yank.
He was the finest man Gina had known -
a tax cheat, a felon – with fresh crumpet in each home.
Hope springs eternal but for all that’s it worth
As Gina raked in the millions by digging up earth
In came an email written in Hope’s fair hand
saying “Mummy, I’m down to my last sixty grand!”
Not bodyguards, nor cooks, nor housekeepers could be bought,
So mama and kids had to front the Supreme Court
And to hide from the press the family’s dysfunction
Big bad mama slapped them all with an injunction.
She bought all the Fairfax shares her broker could scrounge
But they refused her a board seat since she needed a lounge
and as she bellowed, “Waiter! Waiter! Bring me more whine!
Tony her butler ran from the House, followed by Pyne.
Very amusing Umberto. I must admit that Gina doesn’t really get my creative juices flowing
Thank you Doug, however my inspiration for writing it was the possibility of lunching with Our Wise And Noble Host – because the only thing Gina inspires is a gag reflex. Something like heartburn, but without feeling.