Barnaby Joyce is not a happy man.
It's not just what windfarms do to him personally, it's a matter of national security
Pull out the lagerphone, it's time to get serious!
Like Hamlet, the dead man is out walking with his friends, the heads of his friends - Arthur Sinodinos, Mal Brough, and Mitch Fifield.
There is only one thing to do. Malcolm Turnbull must grasp the instrument and dance up a storm
Our PM speaks in crosshatched waffle - if you listen you can *hear* the Turnbull tartan in the drone
Keep the sacred fires burning at Hazelwood and Eraring. Infernal wind machines sucked a hellish cold blast from way down south - look what happened in SA?
Shakety-shakety-shake shake woohoo woo, see the chief witch doctor play his lagerphone and sing to his anthracite fetish, the Black Jesus of Wahroonga.
Hunt and cunt compared? One is unfairly maligned, the other is a prick