Posts Tagged ‘What Luck For Rulers That Men Don’t Think: Adolf Hitler.’

Borbidge’s NLP Comments and Mine.

October 7, 2011


Bligh and the back-room boys know most Queenslanders are incorrigibly and forever dumb, feeding off the Government dispensed propaganda that watching a grand final once a year makes them participating sports-people, are likely to be those who have the maximum three-week memory recall, e.g. a firework show held within that time-frame prior the election would give the sitting party a favorable result. The NLP think-tankers could take a look at the introduction of IQ tests to ascertain a citizen’s suitability to cast a vote. Australians are too easily bought nowadays; what average Queensland yobbo/police person wouldn’t cast his aging mother to the desert for a slab of grog?

“There’s Definitely A Dirt Unit.” Newman said.

…and it’s called The Department of Housing…stasi tactics suspected Mr. Newman, and their Woodridge foot soldiers are the drunks, punks and desperadoes. Two of them are eviction tenants, Hidee and Woodwards, who have been purposely moulded to use mind-games against tenants who have either unwittingly earned the wraith of spiteful little Housing girls, or the retribution of Department heads on those like the writer who seek to expose QBuild and Housing’s inborn corruption. Like you, I am humbled to have taxpayer’s cash wasted on such an unworthy subject as one’s self, and would rather her corrupt Government redirect those funds to the satellite surveillance of tracking arsonists and also perhaps, follow the movements of child predators.

The writer is a non smoker, non drinker nowadays, a quiet living oldie kept occupied writing letters. I’ve lived with the invective of Housing staff for seven years and am a much better person for surviving the experience, although I risk family alienation by staying on at this State run ‘accommodation’ precinct diagonally opposite Beaudesert High School. It does seem I prefer the company of fools, but refusing to kowtow to bureaucratic boofheads has much to do with my stance. Newman treads a shaky path, but I am not obliged to moderate comments to appease bad people.

Slide Bolts and Queensland Housing… A Victim’s Story.

A previous resident of the Government flat I was about to move into had fitted small, almost indiscernible slide bolts that would be hard put to deter friends and I concluded an obliging son might have installed them to ease a parent’s intruder concerns. But, small as they are, a forced shoulder-entry would splinter door surrounds and only a desperate, in and out in a minute opportunist would do something so dopey. Traditional offences like this are soon detected, well before a pin-hole or IT bug could ever be proven to have been planted by a stealthy operative, to later return and retrieve, again by illegal entry.

In time I was to find the only source of home intrusion came not from hungry intransigents or passing opportunists, but from those charged with the protection of the individual rights of the citizen The odds of my finding hen’s teeth are shorter than proving my accusations, so will go into disclaimer mode, how names coinciding with those of living people are accidental and not deliberate.

The precinct’s chief cadre, Woodward is a busy sneaky chap ably assisted by the odious and depraved Hidee. His absence from neighbor-watching is spent at his Brisbane home with (de) briefings and progress reports on the handling of dissident tenants is explored at length. Written reports on the demolishing and character assassinations of disobedient tenants a time bomb, all exchanges are orally delivered between field members and apparatchiks. The chance of a copy relating to the writer coming this way not as good as Loganlea Hospital’s error of remitting my medical files to home address where I discovered that after a three-day hospitalization for aerosol poisoning administered while asleep by a vindictive up wind neighbour, and regret that prudence prevents its disclosure for the time being.

The big-shot 14 y.o. smart-arse who boasted of having a massage after buying dope in Bali will be defended as the best little kid in Christendom. I have in mind, brothers, both impure swill, off-spring of shit-parent milk deliverers, whose bodily fate should have been a commercial sausage-making machine. This newest refuse came in the same mould of these two and should do six years hard with weekly lashings as a reminder of why he was slotted.

Till later, Les.

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