Attend the tale of Wikileaks,
A war on government by geeks,
Which made today Assange, its founder,
Seem to some a frightful bounder.
He’s told what Rudd once said of China,
And touched, some swear, a Swede’s vagina,
Attained more scoops than all the journos
Weeping now in Hell’s infernos.
He’s dug the dirt, he’s blown the gaff
On what ambassadors say to staff.
For such he should be waterboarded,
Such revelations vile and sordid,
For pushing noses up the arse
Of the Great World’s ruling class.
He’ll do, I hear, long years in gaol,
This honest, forthright Aussie male,
And yet, like many Aussie blokes,
Like David Marr and Laurie Oakes,
He’s merely let the sun shine in,
And shouted, ‘Let the games begin!’
And this Australian of the Year
I’ll hail in print and toast in beer.
I’ll send him files, I’ll stand him bail.
Assange for sainthood, folks. Wassail.
Name:
OK. I can’t post on Gifford: the 2nd site your overzealous plankkheaded security guard patrols and won’t let me in.
I enter the password correctly. Rebuffed, I copy and paste. rebuffed.
You only want a couple of answers?
Oh, I see.
And then said Saint Julian,
He of the noble brow,
Attend me all you serfs,
Attend me all now.
For I have revelations
Here ready to break,
Of how to bend the world
My pile, my name to make.
Attend me in my glory,
Attend my wretched scanning
And spare no idle thought
For silly Bradley Manning.
I always thought, smugly :
Swedish vulvas - stuff that!
Surely but a boring car,
And not a sheila’s twat.
Release all the pissy files,
Release them all now,
Why should I care a fig
For miserable little lives?
And all the pissant journos
Still slogging in Australia
Can write Hail to Assange!
And kiss my Wassailia.
DQ
It is wrong in my neck of the woods to rhyme ‘that’ with ‘twat’ and ‘files’ with ‘lives’ but I give you marks for trying. Do the next one sober.
Everyone’s a critic. What do you expect from 20 minutes on a Wednesday night, Paradise Lost?
Assange did stupidly provoke
The high and mighty, powerful folk.
He thought that we, the hoi polloi,
Might value him, this valiant boy.
But, silly he, we don’t care naught,
Except for beer and porn and sport.
Alas, now I must confess
for Assange I did once protest
until I discovered after a week
I really only support free speech.
For Wikileaks and it’s work I marched,
down Swanston Street, our marching path,
until I realised the hardcore left,
wanted to suckle at his breast.
They descended into pantomime,
with grey wigs and gaffa-taped mouths,
to symbolise the Wiki lout,
they tried to make a symbolic pyre,
but looked like a bondaged Mrs Doubtfire.
So I believe in Wikileaks and all it does reveal,
except for it’s piss-ant founder,
with hair and voice of steel.
There’s something we should be planning,
what to do about poor Bradley Manning?