What a load of ballots

I’VE only moments ago returned from a walk to my letterbox; it’s not well!

Simply put, it needs to go to Jenny Craig. Been eating way too much rubbish, and I need to restrict its intake of carbs, I mean cards.

This poor letterbox was full of election material and now has indiscretion, that’s indigestion, sorry.

Maybe I just put a slit and my house number on the wheely bin … nah, joking, it’s important to know who you’re voting for, and I’m sure they all have good inventions … bugger, there I go again, I mean intentions.

I’ve met most, and they’re all good people, so though we send politics up at times, OK, all the time, imagine being in other places on the planet, at the ballot it’s not a sausage that’s pointed at you, something somewhat more dangerous. Though in truth, I’ve had a few smoking sausages at Centrals where I vote, enough to burn a ballot box.

We’re incredibly fortunate, really, because no one nicks the pencils; mind you, the things are smaller than your little finger, and just as blunt. Who does the sharpening? Are they government-issue pencils? Are they right or left-handed? Is it easily lead?

So as we move closer to the selection direction correction election, upon reflection, should there be dissection? I have no idea, I’m a dingo fence sitter, and not a very clever one.

I was in more trouble than a frog in a fan when I put up posters a few years back, for my Mango Party, my Tropical Party, let alone the Lingerie Party! Though admittedly the latter received many votes, but I could see through them. I was told it was serious business and I was not to be flippant with my humour concerning policies, OK, OK, limited flippantness ahead! So I will ask, in all seriousness, who is standing for a moratorium on mangoes being picked early at Jezzine?

I saw them at it on Tuesday night, and I’d planned to be there this evening, and they beat me — not fair, prickly pear.

As for the highway, isn’t Giru up in arms and alarms, the Vegemite track bypasses them! How are the Cobb and Co coaches going to get there now, they’re furious and refuse to vote for Harold Holt unless he does something now. Though in Giru, of course, it’s voting or boating.

But it’s not a prob, as many of us have done our postal vote, and all will be OK as long as the carrier curlew makes it through, and don’t get mixed up with the days, Saturday election day, and the very next day is Cyclone Sunday, don’t vote for Debbie, Winifred or Larry. Might be a few similarities with elections and cyclones, eh, blowing in and out and leaving a trail of destruction. Joking!

All will be great in our Ultra Marginal seat, I’m sure, our City Without Strangers.

Which brings me to the point, if they saved the money spent on ads, we could have our highway, a new Cleveland resort, and a space port for everyone!

Happy days!

PS. All in fun.