By John Miller
Monday the 27th of November, 2017
1990s gardening nerd Don Burke has lawyered up today, as every woman he has ever encountered gives their unflattering opinion about him to Australian media, which has nothing better to do than try an old TV personality in a media show trial. Did somebody say tall poppy?
Here’s what we know so far about creepy deviant Don: woman hate him.
He’s the worst type of bra-strip-flicker, notice your underwear, cop-a-feel type of guy: the kind that isn’t Chad. And now that these girls no longer need him to advance their careers, they’re letting Don know that no means sexual harassment. Wow suddenly morals eighteen years later in Burke’s backyard.
Is Don Burke a creepy old sex pervert? Almost certainly. Is this an oh-so-very 2017 man hunt by the Current Year Witches who have watered down the definition of sexual assault to the point where it’s an allegation that can be levelled at pretty much anyone? You know the answer to that.
But is Don, the guy who stuck by his wife for five decades, his wife with cancer no less, really the kind of foul demon that we ought to be going after? Give me a break, shameless brazen harlots. Go have your #metoo moment somewhere else, and leave this saintly man alone.
So as we all await the inevitable mea culpa of Don Burke for trying to act like a much more attractive man than his genetics would allow, and for not just taking his money and fame and sitting in the cupboard, I for one wish him all the best.
Not for being foul-mouthed, lewd and improper, for which he ought to apologise to Jesus, but for lawyering up and holding the line against these shrieking two-faced roasties who can’t tell the difference between sexual assault and lewd conduct any more.
Full disclosure: John Miller’s IRL name is Frank Faulkner. I’m an Aussie and when I’m not obsessing about Conservative politics or defending Trump I also enjoy various sports and Christian activities.