The Crown Jewels
Fri 18th May 2018
It is Royal Wedding Week here at the Boob and we will have none of your peevish republican whining about Harry and Megs, or Annabel and J-Fez, or Dutts and the exciting full body cavity searches coming to an airport near you. The whole world is a giant Trumpster fire and for one brief shining moment this weekend we have been gifted a time-out from the accelerating collapse of our civilisation to drink Pimms and contemplate the on-point whimsy of Harry and Megs commemorative ‘heritage condoms’. These delightful prophylactic keepsakes, retailing worldwide as the ‘Crown Jewels’, are a real thing in a royal blue souvenir case that plays both “God Save the Queen” and “The Star-Spangled Banner,” when you crack open the lid and spin up the extra sexy disco ball in the honeymoon suite at Windsor Castle.
Only the sourest of perpetual malcontents would drop a turd in the hot tub of Harry and Meg’s big day, which is why even after years of staff cutbacks the Daily Telegraph retains so many unrelieved buttholes on the payroll. It must have been a diabolically difficult choice for the eds, though. Whether to dip into the archives and reanimate the desiccated husk of royal scandals past, or actually spend some of Lord Rupert’s enormous and frankly inexplicable tax return to pay for paps and trolls to sex up some new stuff. Thank fuck for the ABC, eh? Having consigned Annabel Crabb and Jeremy Fernandez to the back of the plane to London for the royal hitching, the national broadcaster could only stand indicted by Rupert’s loyal viziers for wasting tax payers money that should have been given to Rupert and Foxtel.
While every other media outlet in the world was sending legions of reporters to the UK, the ABC was supposed to… what? Make do with screen caps of trending Twitter memes?
Given the slow strangulation of public broadcasting by successive governments (all the way back to Bob Hawke), Crabb and J-Fez likely only got to London after pooling frequent flyer points and promising they had a mate’s couch to crash on for a few nights when they got there. It didn’t stop Home Affairs Minister and giant talking tubesnake Peter Dutton from whispering base lies and defamations in parseltongue about them because nothing will ever stop Dutton doing that about anyone.
“Why they need to send people across when they’ve already got correspondents in the UK is beyond me,” he hissed into the mic at 2GB, complaining about the waste of two business class fares. “If you have a look at the largesse of their studios at the ABC, these bonuses they’ve just paid out, I’d love to know the criteria.”
The answer is, there were none, because Crabb and Fernandez flew cattle class, but what does that matter? There was never any criteria stated for slashing the ABC’s funding at the same time as Dutts and Co were backhanding thirty million bucks to Murdoch’s Foxtel either. Just as there’ll be no need for criteria, reason or probable cause when Dutton gets his way and empowers the Federal police to demand your ID at the airport, whether you’re travelling or just there for the Krispy Kreme wagon. (Pro tip: get between those cops and the donuts and you are totally getting a phone book bashing).
But we won’t worry about any of that this week. Because it’s almost time for Harry and Megs to put on those Crown Jewels.