QUEENSLAND HOUSING COMMISSION…George Street Sewer Line.


Common sense dictates that public ridicule, like the stocks of old England, shamed intransigents into correct behavioral patterns. Statutes that risk humiliating the progeny of parliamentarians, police and newspaper journalists will never see the table. These perfect little future leaders, sprung from the loins of the sagacious will be given the o.k. to booze-up and main and kill at an immature age. At the crash scene, bawling relatives reassure the audience the child speedster who killed, “was the best kid in town.” Name and shame; good idea Davey Jones, will never happen; our nanny state would crucify the victim first.

Let’s hope Queensland Labor Party’s farcically and thoughtlessly named Housing Ministery; it is officially Homelessness, believe it or not…where’s Ripley?… can locate an instructor on procedure to retrain those Housing Commission staff who have adopted Woodridge’s Station Road sheet sniffing principles as a pattern. Flood victims needing assistance will be put on the sliding list and will never see the light of day if they are heard voicing anti-Labor Government sentiments.

Re spent cig. smoke, only way to avoid it is to sleep in the car, I told the childish Rebecca, obeying the gorgon line, most outraged at my ver batim report of abuse. Hillhouse advised I develop my fifth column network. This prime dummy could well be the kernel of such a cell, is not mensa material) opportunistic stasi staffers grasping at my statement that camping under a bridge would be preferable to inhaling day-long tenant cigarette smoke, paint toxins; side-stepping snot on hand-rails and grass, and being subject to raucous, idiotic mobile phone users and assorted bedlam effects. My pleas for a sanity of sorts invoke mental evaluation assessment threats and tenancy quotes from the duplicitous suck-hole, O’Brien especially assigned fascist tyro sent to break my resolve. Another wonder, soiling the oxygen without lighting-up. Simply by taking breath, I invite the ire of thugs, whether they hail from George Street or the gutters of Station Road., or even the purposely imported eviction cretins. Wise people are generally unimpressed, but remain repelled by the stupidity and the turbidity of Government sycophants.

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Schwarten cops a fair bit of stick, but I don’t know the man so can hardly criticise him, but his office is there for all comers, of course. He and Struthers are probably sleep-deprived worrying about the well-being of his clients and how to stem the private dealings of his Woodridge representatives. Before most of his old portfolio was relinquished to the woman, I wrote his office while he held Housing to bitch about a three month, long-winded amateur’s (a QBuild mate) ten failed attempts to make operable a TV antenna. His Chief Of Staff sent me the usual template letter, adding a treatise on correct procedure in addressing a Minister of the Crown, admonished my effrontery and strongly advised that future complaints be directed to a minor Woodridge pant-shiner, Murphy. I did just that and have been soundly ridiculed ever since.

My independent action earned the eternal wrath, not only of the chief of dunces Murphy, but more so, his devoted, bent toadies who felt I should cop third world treatment in silence. I humbly advise you, brothers and sisters, don’t do it, don’t let me be the Pied Piper who led you over a mental cliff. Follow the stand-over advice I got and just get out to quote their instruction. I am one of the few who enjoy the mental stimulation, slight as it is, against uneducated Government nose-pickers. My mate’s death was the ultimate emotional pain, never to be surpassed, so I am ever fortified. I am also stimulated and reinforced by my principles. The retributive mentalities that propel the hate-machinations of H.C. dingo pack leaders Charmaine and Kym can’t affect me in any way. Research work on a far more revealing and hopefully conclusive document is tedious and long and continues.

Walking away from this place would be far, far too easy and a cop-out. The lure would have to be extraordinarily tasty. The Station Road neanderthals do have a difficulty with comprehension and a hundred combined sub-average IQ fabricators would still find it tough to whip one 130+ honest man.

The quoted paragraph on top is an unused CM letter which was going to lead somewhere but I strayed. It could relate to Government encouraged stupidity. I’m wrapping this up because I’ve got a bone in the leg. Love Les.

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