It's morning in Australia. The Prime Minister awakes to his breakfast of GU Rochtane Blueberry energy gel and two Electrolyte Rehydration Shotz tablets. He neatly slips into his lycra body suit as he watches Sunrise and listens to Sydney's most recent talkback abomination simultaneously. He notes Kochie's ever changing face; that laser surgery did not go well.
He's off, out on his Merida carbon fibre road bike; very light, lighter even than a small starving child.
As always his ride is enjoyable, although he pines for Canberra and the world record sized velodrome he had installed on the recently drained Lake Burley Griffin. People complained, but it's a man-made lake, so who cares? He wanted a man-made velodrome. Same thing.
Canberra had recently found a firm place in his heart; the scene for so many of his victories. Juliar gone, knifed by that bloke in the bomber jacket on the back of constant opposition sniping. Heavy Kevie, fleeing to the UN in a self important rage, furious at everyone's inability to catch on to his obvious hints. And of course good old Wayne Swan, living underground with the Green insurgents, in love with a fat man his deranged mind believes is a beautiful woman.
Canberra; scene of his historic "You're Welcome" statement to Indigenous Australians. He still remembers that sunny day in February, Andrew Bolt standing there, tears in his eyes, holding aloft a picture of the newly animated corpse of Rupert Murdoch.
Canberra; where he completely destroyed the progressives; both real and pretend. They litter the courtyards of parliament, vanquished by a combination of hubris, ineptitude and the habit of speaking unpalatable truths. They disgust him. Carbon taxers, welfare apologists, public healthcare evangelists and gay marriage sympathisers. Irrelevant, everyone of them, to his new nation of the individual. Autonomy reigns, safety nets are banned and the die is cast.
The boats are gone, turned away in their hundreds. Many sunk, but no one cares, for we are now alone. And Empty.
Empty to the core.
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