This is not satire.
— Keira Savage (@KeiraSavage00) July 8, 2020
Buy the bloke another VB. He is the smartest man Australia. Here is his monologue:
“Sir I don’t really give a f—-. Y’know, I’ve been locked down, whadda you reckon? Hey, mate, mate, I live ‘ere, and you try to lock me out of bloody Wodonga and Albury, how am I supposed to get to Centrelink? You know that’s what I’m really worried about…..nah that’s very bad eh, so you tell that to Channel 9. What are you Channel 7? 8? 10? 12?”
I’m not even joking, this larrikin makes more sense than the entire Australian MSM and he’s half tanked. He may be slurring his words but his points are crystal clear:
- “Sir I don’t really give a f—-“: He sees through the veneer of respectability and pretentious formality with which our supposed betters have carried themselves throughout the whole of 2020. The models were wrong, but we’re still supposed to trust the experts.
- “I live ‘ere, and you try to lock me out of bloody Wodonga and Albury“: The purportedly protective measures put in place by the government are stupid, contradictory, and are implemented corruptly and incompetently.
- “How am I supposed to get to Centrelink?“: Governments worldwide have conspired to destroy the productive free market so that only parasitic capitalism can survive. We will become reliant upon big sister handing out our UBI so we can eat our bug burgers, but again, don’t expect competence.
- “So you tell that to Channel 9. What are you Channel 7? 8? 10? 12?”: Whether corporate or government funded, the entire mainstream media is presenting the same false narrative.
The takeaway from this is, never underestimate the bogan.
“If there was hope, it must lie in the proles because only there, in those swarming disregarded masses, 85 percent of the population of Oceania, could the force to destroy the Party ever be generated. The Party could not be overthrown from within. Its enemies, if it had any enemies, had no way of coming together or even of identifying one another. Even if the legendary Brotherhood existed, as just possibly it might, it was inconceivable that its members could ever assemble in larger numbers than twos and threes. Rebellion meant a look in the eyes, an inflection of the voice; at the most, an occasional whispered word. But the proles, if only they could somehow become conscious of their own strength, would have no need to conspire. They needed only to rise up and shake themselves like a horse shaking off flies. If they chose they could blow the Party to pieces tomorrow morning. Surely sooner or later it must occur to them to do it? And yet–!”
When Australia wakes up, the globalists are stuffed.