The Prime Minister, Malcolm Turnbull, is late for a meeting. All the VIP parking spots are already filled.
He gets his driver to drive his car into the public parking area, but there still isn’t a place to park the car.
Then Malcolm raises his eyes to heaven and asks God, “Please help me to find a place. If you help me, I promise I’ll go to church every Sunday even when it isn’t a photo opportunity and I promise l will quit being greedy and loving filthy lucre and lying and I promise to remove Peter Dutton as Minister for Everything to do with concentration camps.”
Then, suddenly, his driver finds an empty parking spot.
Malcolm raises his eyes to heaven again, “I found this by myself and don’t need your help anymore…”
A Coalition Parliamentarian died and his friends realised that it would be against the deceased member’s ethics for him to pay for anything out of his own pocket.
So one of those friends went around collecting for a fund for his funeral.
A woman was asked to donate ten dollars.
“Ten dollars?” she said. “It only takes ten dollars to bury a Coalition Member? Here’s a hundred – go bury ten of them!”
A One Nation Senator sent a letter to the Government Minister for Science, Greg Hunt, asking for information about UFO sightings and if it might fund UFO research.
After several weeks, Greg Hunt wrote back, “jang vIDa je due luq … ach ghotvam’e’ QI’yaH devolve qaS.”
The Senator was totally confused and asked around his office for anyone who may know what it meant. No one did.
So he went to his Leader’s office and no one on Senator Hanson’s staff had a clue, either.
Eventually the Senator decided that there was one person who may know about foreign languages. So he went to the Minister for Immigration and Border Security.
Mr Dutton was able to translate it because it was in his native tongue. The message read, “The minister will reply in due course. However, this is a non-devolved matter,” in Klingon.
Three contractors were bidding to fix a broken fence at Kirrabilli House. One is from Brisbane, another is from Adelaide, and the third is from Hobart. All three go with a Coalition appointed bureaucrat to examine the fence.
The contractor from Hobart takes out a tape measure and does some measuring, then works some figures with a pencil. “Well,” he says, “I figure the job will run about $900. $400 for materials, $400 for my crew, and $100 profit for me.”
The Adelaide contractor also does some measuring and figuring, then says, “I can do this job for $700. $300 for materials, $300 for my crew, and $100 profit for me.”
The Brisbane contractor doesn’t measure or figure, but leans over to the Government bureaucrat and whispers, “$2,700.”
The official, incredulous, says, “You didn’t even measure like the other guys! How did you come up with such a high figure?” The Brisbane contractor whispers back, “$1000 for me, $1000 for you, and we hire the guy from Adelaide to fix the fence.” “Done!” replies the Coalition appointed bureaucrat.
And that, my friends, is how Australia’s new Jobson Growth plan will work.
Malcolm Turnbull was in a bar and he paid for a woman’s drink.
She thanked him but wondered why a stranger had bought her a beer.
“We have an election coming up and I’m running for Prime Minister,” he told her, “I want your vote.”
“You’ve got it,” she said, grabbing her glass. “Anyone’s better than the greedy fool who’s in there now.”
It is the weekend.
The time for making sense is long gone!
It is time to learn the lesson our politicians and role models have been teaching us all week.
Stupid is smart, war is peace, men do real work, women are a reward, wealth is entitled and higher taxes are for poor people.
Once we accept all these facts we can relax into a meaningless weekend.
Except for the women.
Bring me a beer, Martha!