At The Hansard Monologues with Craig Thomson in the York Theatre in Chippendale I watched my famed friend flinch, and then become silently stirred as his hour-long parliamentary speech, condensed, ocurred again on stage, and the audience grew quiet, and their quietness tightened into guilt. They had forgotten he was innocent, you see; the body language experts had said so on the day, he could not be otherwise; and now, reminded of this, they began to see him again as a sort of mini-martyr; a vest-pocket Dreyfus; a watch-fob Wilde. In the Q&A afterwards he said he had never watched his own performances in replay, and commended David Roberts, his impersonator, on the edgy tenderness of his transformation.
In the bar after that, David Borger, MP, whose maiden speech I had written, and whom I had cursed in print more than once for having unknowingly aborted the career of Verity Firth, who might else have become Prime Minister, bet me with beaming peasant confidence that Abbott would win. I first proposed a thousand dollars, then settled on a good red wine. We drank some more, and argued a bit, and paced about, and ate peanuts; and I grew progressively enraged, comrades, at what I suppose I must call the ‘gleeful despondency’ shown by this kind of ambitious young Labor klutz. Craig said a similar sort of person had bet he would lose Dobell in 2010, and he half believed him; but his numbers on the night went up, against the national swing to the Coalition.
Why are these young fools like this? I decided it was because a ‘period in the wilderness’ was deeply attractive to them. At the end of it, they believed, there would be safe seats for them, and ministries, and white cars, and trips overseas, and the Old Order, their predecessors, would be washed away.
Tony Llewellyn-Jones at last came came down to join us, and we tried to get the director, xxx, to take the show to the Central Coast and put it on as a benefit night for Craig; but he said the ‘technical challenges were too great’ in such a move of personnel and stage machinery — though not in taking it to Canberra in early August: that, happily, could be managed — and we plotted to put on instead a differerent sort of benefit, The Word Before Shakespeare perhaps, or an evening of Clive James, or Mike Carlton, between August 9 and 22.
It may boost, or not, the impression that Craig is innocent, and ill-used, if a few esteemed actors are in it, and a famed non-actor, like, say, Michael Kirby, who has suffered, lately, similar persecution.
We will see what we shall see. The election will not now occur before October 19, I suspect, because of Yom Kippur, Rudd’s birthday and the football finals, and because Rudd and Shorten will take a while to to sign the states up to Gonski, which they can’t do if they’re in Caretaker Mode and Abbott forbids it, as he can, and would, and there is no Labor candidate as yet in Dobell. It is possible, just possible, they are planning not to have one, as they did not in Mackellar when I first ran against Bronwyn Bishop, and let Craig, who is locally popular, and widely trusted, win ‘accidentally’ a seat he has scored well in before, rather than be seen to be part of his persecution and lose to the Liberals.
I am told now a lot of the things he is said to have bought on his Union Visa Card were cigarettes.
And he does not smoke.
Oh boy.
And so it goes.
Name:
He who is without sin cast the first drone. As I said, I was a whore and I probably still am a whore and probably into the future I will remain a whore. Am I the only whore on this site?
A sex worker?
William, I was aiming for a bit more than that, but thanks for asking. My sex was worked, although I can’t remember being paid in cash for a specific gig as such, really there is little difference, whore to client, as many know, if you’re suddenly running hot and the fractal truth is out… but I guess you should be careful when describing the act itself. Cash changes hands, that is all.
“Whore” has a richer, fuller meaning, than just being a sex worker.
I am less taken with labels than I am verbs, as has been noted. I can whore.
More than one in the whore house? The Wackenhut band only had three, creator manager Malcolm, a fancy twirler in Doug, myself playing with my trombone and a couple of nominees who never responded.
Lets hope the whore-house can do better.
Seventy six French Horns in the big parade. One hundred and ten soixante neufs close behind. Wackenhuts rag time menage a troi.
During my long and expensive American education I recall a very beautiful American woman from Arizona via California and Texas explaining the nuances of meaning of whoring. In obe version - the one I like most - whoring involves maximal enjoyment of stimulative actions applied to erogenous regions. To be a whore (noun) can be to enjoy to the full she said and did.
So; was it nice? War es schon?
So according to Greg James QC it was “very likely” there would be no issues about the facts of the expenditure, this is shaggers own lawyer FFS, so one can conclude shagger was blowing union members money on hookers & the cash advances for himself (good earner eh) not just the occaisonal pack of cigges.
So Bob, considering you know shagger so intimately and have spoken with him about this matter and you are convinced of his innocence, will you be contacting his lawyer and testifying for him?
You better hurry the next hearing is August 16.
I am not a material witness. But he was not in the vicinity on two of the six occasions he was accused of. And, since he got no refund, it is reasonable to assume that these two occasions, and the cigarettes, were enjoyed by someone else.
And that his card was used by someone else.
Is there any other way you can read it?
What way is that?
You corrupt and lying cunt.
So you morbidly obese probably pissed obfuscater are you stating directly here and now that shagger has done no wrong, are you stating that given your discussions with him (by your own admission) that he is innocent of any wrong doing and, given your discussions with him why have you not contacted his QC and offered your testimony.
Readdonable?, Vigarettes?, You are full of shit and basically a liar who redefines tosspot, get off the grog rummy and try writing something coherent without the alcohol induced cohones.
Ookiosewada baka yaro
“I am not a material witness. But he was not in the vicinity on two of the six occasions he was accused of”
So shagger said so and you believed him.
Way to go farmer Kev McFucknuckle have another bundy you bloated great yak.
yak? at last a word of sense emerges from these intoxicated diatribes; now we need to find the conversation in which its sense is
yak? It’s a metaphor you ass.
Sepuku
hara kiri
I smelled the shit and followed the trail and find you disembowelled by your own hand.
I could of sworn you lacked the courage.
Must be a set up.
But then it is only a blog and reincarnation is guaranteed under new cover.
Sayonara kamikaze
Put down the crack pipe and move away from the keyboard. You’ve burnt off too many brain cells to be coherent.
Hiroshima is closer than Yokohama when your lover don’t run for cover in Midorogaike.
We kayaked down the sewers on the north side of Kyoto to the imperial palace when the plums were in flower. Is that where I smelled you first.
The yakuza attached a rubber hose to your crack pipe - the other end is still connected to your exhaust - so take care with the carbon monoxide - it chelates the haemoglobin and shields the iron atoms rendering them ineffective in complexing oxygen.
It is okay the psychiatrists say to be angry. The suppressed contents of the unconscious erupt in the strangest ways.
Our hope is to assist in making the contents of the unconscious much more conscious to enable mastery of your irrational behaviours.
Untermenschen and Ubermenschen are the same species. The difference is cognitive. You get to choose.
Take your medicine
Seriously get off the crack pipe and stop drinking your bong water you’re incoherant.
Are you using this blog as a vehicle to project your discomfort in regard to an addiction?
You keep counselling others to eschew the crack pipe, but you also sound a bit rattled, and you’re unusually offensive in the way you express yourself, when assessed against the broad river of posts.
How about i give you the same regard i got.
Fuck off cunt, your opinions are worthless - Urusai, Kono Bakayaro
It shouldn’t be that hard to figure out that as soon as Bob reads these posts he will ban the suicidal KS for life. And not before time.
Sayonara.
Doug & can;
Stop projecting your own failings onto others.
Yes dug you are the typical bansturbator remora attached to bobs scrote.
If bob wants to ban me that is his choice, it’s his blog not yours. However, that would just reinforce the notion that he is a softcock who can’t tolerate a contrary viewpoint. Much like like his remoras who can only find succour agreeing with each other over at the dumb.
Inaugural Graeme Bird Golden Turd award coming your way for best effort at base commentary.
So you can’t refute what i say. Well done remoras
There’s nothing to refute, and there’s no conversation to be had with abusive smart-arses like you. You’re not here for discussion or conversation or exploration of view. For you it’s just a mud-slinging exercise characterised by insult and liberal profanity.
What’s to discuss? Do you want your attitude or opinons ratified… when clearly you have no suppport for that response? I’d classify your input as typical troll, uninterested in anything apart from flaming and shit-stirring. A rude guest at Table Talk, in other words.
So when i get called a cunt its ‘conversation’
FMD what a tossbag.
Refute what, exactly? All I see is insults and flaming.
He tolerates an addled pated drunk like you so i should be in good company dug.
…the words boring, piffle, and eye-gouge, come to mind.
Adios, Knob !
Fly by pussy
“as soon as Bob reads these posts he will ban the suicidal KS for life. And not before time.”
So sayeth a beta male pussy.
No, no, keep it up.
The rules are you do not talk about me personally or my private life unless you know me or have witnesses, but I’m beginning to enjoy you.
You show what some Liberal voters are like.
They are prepared to lie about anyone in the vilest way.
I urge on you my reviews of Abbott’s book, and Costello’s, and the generous assessments I made of them, though they were men who ruined my life.
But you, by contrast …
Nah, it doesn’t matter, you’re an idiot, keep talking.
Why thanks Bob, i appreciate you got off the couch, put down the KFC and responded without the invective your remora bansturbators peddle.
However, scroll up and answer my questions. You must know shaggers QC, so you will be in court on the 16th August giving him supporting testimony or are you blowing smoke out of your buttocks?
You must be in a mellow mood tonight, Bob. I would have erased him from history days ago.
Of course you would dub, you’re a banstubator and no dissent can be tolerated. Baka yori
You hypocrite. Abbot and Costello did not ruin your life. You were found to have defamed them without witnesses but you claim this is the one unpardonable sin when it happens to you.
No, I reported what Rodney Cavalier said, and he lately said he said it.
In what, therefore, did I lie?
Here’s a cartoon for you Bob
http://pickeringpost.com/cartoon/1750
Pickering is a sick, puerile piece of shit
That is too polite, jsa.
Deranged right wing wanker, who ought to be dead by now.
Yeah, not like the deep thinker that is Leunig, much loved by the theocratic Iran.
Baka
Leunig? Can’t stand a bar of him. No humour, no talent, no sense.
The evening meal was served and, as with most airplane food, it was bland and boring but provided a little sustenance. Both Craig and Juliana drank a glass of Merlot, and with this, the late hour and the previous drinks, both started to feel more relaxed and a little hazy. After the remains of the food had been taken away, the cabin was darkened and blankets were provided for them to sleep. Craig, however, had other ideas. Both Craig and Juliana had blankets over them and were reclined whenhis foot started rubbing up the length of her leg.
“Craig, what are you up to?” Juliana asked, knowing full well.
“Just stretching, darling,” Craig replied as his foot travelled up her thigh.
His movements were slow and sensual and Juliana parted her legs slightly allowing him easier access. His foot met the silkiness of her panties and his toes started to stroke up and down the front of them. Juliana let out a soft sigh as she began to feel the first signs of becoming wet. Craig felt her foot rest on his crotch and start moving. He was very hard in seconds. He quickly altered positions so that he was laying next to her rather than away from her and gently kissed her on the lips.
“We will have to be quiet, my darling,” he said as his fingers started unbuttoning her dress.
His hands went to her breasts and started squeezing her bosom through her brassiere. Juliana dropped her hand and felt the tumescence of his cock through the cotton of his chinos. She slowly outlined it with her fingers as his other hand went underneath her dress and traced the opening of her lips through the sodden material of her panties. He kissed her gently as he pulled the panties to one side and slowly started to rub her clitoral hood.
Juliana bit her lip and slowly undid the buttons of his fly and put her hand inside his boxer shorts. She felt a shiver go through him as she grasped the swollen appendage that was very obviously at full hardness already. She stroked him up and down, feeling the creamy moisture on his cockhead and reached below with her other hand to massage his balls. He groaned with the sensation of her hands on him, his desire growing even more.
“God, I want to fuck you right now, darling,” he whispered hoarsely.
Craig slowly inserted two fingers inside of her and slowly started to frig her. She parted her thighs even more to accommodate him and gasped as his fingers did their magic. Suddenly Craig withdrew and whispered, “Turn around, darling.”
Juliana turned under the covers and felt Craig’s hands lifting her dress. He quickly removed her panties and put them in his pocket. She moved backwards slightly so that she could feel his hard length nestled between her buttocks. His hand came around to the front and started to rub her clitoral hood again. He gently teased it out and kneaded it gently between his thumb and forefinger. His other hand started to gently frig her again. Juliana felt her orgasm approaching and Craig sensed this. He withdrew his fingers and wrapped them around his cock, then gently entered her from the rear.
He slid into her easily and just held his full length inside her still for a moment, feeling her muscles throbbing around his shaft, almost clamping him. He started to thrust as his still wet fingers slowly probed her anus. As he felt Juliana move backwards onto his prick, he inserted first one and then two fingers about an inch inside her there. Juliana gasped a little louder than she intended as he increased his movement inside her. He leaned into her and kissed her neck and shoulder.
“Sweetheart, I am so close,” she breathed.
He then felt her hands reach and grasp his behind, pulling him further inside of her. He felt her start to tremble and the approach of his own orgasm. He pumped faster and faster until he felt her climax hit.
He let go and shot streams and streams of his hot seed inside of her. They stayed like that for a few minutes, Craig still hard inside of her, before he gently withdrew.
”There is more. You go to the loo first, darling, and I will follow,” he whispered. He still had her panties but would not return them until he had her again. Once was not enough in the mood he was in, and, despite what had just happened, he was still hard.
Juliana smiled to herself as she walked to the toilet. She knew that they were not fooling anyone about what was going on as she saw Craig get up and come down the aisle behind her. He locked the door after them and lifted her onto the small counter that held the sink. He embraced her and kissed her ferociously - her mouth, her neck, and, having undone her dress again, her shoulders and breasts. Juliana was wearing a low-cut bra and the soft pink of her areolae emerged with her gasps, turning Craig on even more. He slipped the lacy fabric down and kissed and sucked her nipples in turn.
Juliana had mastered the button fly - as Craig had explained to her that they were designed to be opened rapidly in one quick pull. He was rigid and throbbing in her hand. She raised her legs around his hips and returned to his mouth and their hungry kisses. Nothing was said. He moved to enter her again, hard and fast and deep, almost animalistic in their fierceness. Craig and Juliana moved in rhythm as his member went into her. Pushing even more, feeling her muscles pulling him in, grasping him as they both reached the ultimate mile high experience. He semen flooded her and he felt her moisture doing the same to him. Still not a word was uttered. Their breath had quickened and their hearts were racing. There was silence until both slowed down, just feeling, not thinking. After several deep breaths and equilibrium was regained, Craig grinned at Juliana.
“Well, so much for your fear of flying, sweetheart. That is one way to distract yourself,“ she laughed.
“We had best clean up and get some rest. I think now I need the space in here alone.”
I’d had you picked as a porn aficionado for some time, spleenblatt, so thanks for confirming. It’s always good to know where a man’s mind dwells.
An error there. lying, not laying, next to her
Remember simple primary school lesson - Craig’s not laying eggs next to her.
McGaw
You have to be female, McGaw/P Casey. No man could read that and then talk about lying/laying!