By John Miller
Thursday the 9th of November, 2017
Sam Dastyari, or Dasher as he is affectionately known to his Bolshevik comrades Down Under, was heckled by bogans recently, when he popped into a bar to collect a paper bag full of Chinese silver and instructions from his Beijing handler.
The bogans apparently took umbrage at Dasher’s presence in their midst, and proceeded to regale him with the kind of comments that my grandfather and his brother used to make about the Japanese every ANZAC day, after they had drunk more than two beers.
Now without in any way downplaying the SHOCKING RACISM which national media has latched on to as evidence of rampant White Nationalism and Hitlers in our midst, I would just like to point out that pretty much everybody who actually fought in the Second World War that I met was a racist, even though they mostly hid it fairly well on 364 days.
My Uncle Sid, like my grandad and most of his brothers, was captured by the Imperial Japanese Army after the British decided that all their guns were facing in the wrong direction. Apparently Singapore wasn’t close enough to the White Cliffs of Dover to be worth defending, and so he and the rest of the 10th Light Horse were taken prisoner.
When you are a six foot something bloke who speaks his mind freely, you are going to have a rough time of it in a Japanese POW camp. Uncle Sid would smash anything he saw with a Made in Japan sticker on it, which is why I never went shopping with him while I was a kid. If he were alive today, I probably couldn’t have him over for tea. Playstations aren’t as cheap as most Japanese goods were back in the 1970s.
Similarly, my Dad and his brothers all fought in the Korean and Vietnam Wars, holding the Chinese Communists at bay, so that Dasher and his mates in the Australian Parliament could get fat on kickbacks and bribes from the Chinese Communists in current year. Their generation isn’t in Church quite so much, so the casual racism tends to break out at all kinds of family gatherings. I don’t think they mean much by it, and I’ve never seem them be anything but nice to our multicultural friends, but it is what it is.
It’s all very well for somebody who collects bags of cash from his Red Chinese masters and gets by on whatever the going salary for a Canberra suit is these days to demagogue working class and middle class racism. People who can’t afford houses any more but who can still afford beer are liable to say some awful things to you, if you invade their natural environment, and they realise that you are one of their Canberra overlords.
If you are Sam Dastayari or Penny Wong or a slimy journalist from the queer Bolshevik outraged classes that wishes it lived in a less bogan country than Australia, Pauline Hanson and her supporters are just the scum of the earth. But never having walked a mile in their thongs, it is all too easy to judge.
If you don’t like to hear drunk bogans say awful stuff about your Communist passion for buggery and atheism, then maybe you ought to go to a fancy poofter bar instead, where I’m sure they say nothing but edifying things about Middle Australia, our God, our Churches, and our way of life.
I’m not much of a drinking man these days, and I prefer to stay out of bars and unseemly rows with bogans altogether. I’ve always been more of Howard battler and a based Tones backer than a Pauline fan. But in this one instance she was probably perfectly within her rights to tell Dasher and Co. that neither she nor the ghost of Black Jack McEwen nor the good Lord himself is immune from a spray from the drunks at the pub.
Why Dasher and Wong have decided to turn this everyday act of harmless stupidity into an international incident where the fate of the nation hangs in the balance is anybody’s guess, but I look forward to the next episode of I hate everything about Australia on QANDA. Dasher and Wong obviously deserve those bravery medals that the Trotskyites at the ABC are shining up for them, along with several standing ovations from a live studio audience of pansexual university students.
I hope that the Socialist fruit bats who somehow made beards unmanly and who get approval from Aunty to ask questions are allowed to thoroughly roast Pauline, with all their best leading questions that they sat up all night crafting with their girlfriend’s son, some random gay swinger who threw his keys in the bowl, and the hairdresser who sleeps on the couch.
The loveable rogues of the Left who impartially boost Communism at the ABC aside, we are all deeply indebted to Dasher, Wong, and the queers at the Manchester Grauniad, for highlighting just how far we have to go before we meet their lofty expectations.
Unfortunately I can’t vote No twice, but I still get to laugh at the mock outrage of the faux Working Class heroes of Labour, who occasionally deign to drop in on the type of D-heads (ooh, witty retort) they would have been living and working amongst if they didn’t go straight from university politics to the Canberra gravy train.
Excelsior, Dasher, you brave man. On behalf of all Australians a very big Sorry to you mate. Truly the wrongs that you have suffered are a blight on this nation, and we should all be ashamed ourselves.
Full disclosure: John Miller’s IRL name is Frank Faulkner. I currently live in Australia and I write about things that concern me as a Christian, or as a cranky guy. These days I spend all my spare time defending the best (and only worthy) President of the United States since Reagan. Totally worth it. Bring back that 80s prosperity and the Moral Majority, Mr President. Christians4Trump. MAGA.