Sunday, May 22, 2011

Drowning The Ants

JUST BEYOND the Billabong’s back door, down the stairs and past the barbecue, there is a spot that would be perfect for a lemon tree, as that is where, when alcohol has been consumed, the Professor sometimes gives the ants reason to believe their little world is ending beneath a body-temperature deluge high in uric acid. It is a cultural thing and to be cherished, a testament to the Judeo-Christian heritage. A good Buddhist shrinks from inflicting such suffering, the Confucian sees it as disrespecting the garden's ancestral planters and an animist is unlikely to unzip at all, apt to be gripped by reverence and reverie at the sight of all that secret ant business being enacted down below. As for your Musselman, the Prophet’s prohibition on alcohol means that, upon sober reflection, indoor plumbing is to be used and celebrated as another example of Allah’s beneficence in guiding the faithful to our infidel wonderland of flushable creature comforts.

Still, there is inspiration for those culturally attuned to absorb it, as few things more closely resemble the current political situation than the spectacle of agitated and baffled bullants dashing about in their sodden circles. Somewhere deep below the nest’s mounded entrance sits the queen, dry for the moment and relatively safe. Picture her, if you will, with a longish nose and hair of the Bozo hue. She is isolated and dependent for her cues and information on messengers bringing word of the saturating disaster above. Here you might imagine a six-legged Bruce Hawker (especially by the second or third bottle) relaying the grim tidings to his leader. Not to worry, he will advise at last, your soldier ants are on the attack, little nippers at the ready.

And so they are, fierce in their bafflement as the flood grows ever worse. If ants carried notebooks and took unquestioning stenography, the most determined to protect and serve would bear names like Michelle and Peter. Such ardent defenders see the current panic as evidence only of the attacker’s “negativity”, not of the nest’s many vulnerabilities.  It is a scent trail to be laid at every opportunity, augmented as the flood grows worse with comforting counsel that  the mission is not flawed, only the way its goals are being sold.

But still the panic spreads, so much so that even Bob, the genial old drone, is getting agitated. He never bit nor was seen to be riled, but now he is irritable and fighting mad,  snapping his green pincers at all sundry, especially that big cockroach Rupert. Bob has had an easy life, required to do little more than seed his peculiar notions and bask in the acclaim as the queen brings them into being. Now that he is being blamed and quizzed and called upon for explanations, well, he does not like it one bit.

It is an inspiration to see the ants in such a state. Until an election is called and the queen is flooded out for good, it will have to do. Now, where’s that corkscrew? Another bottle beckons.

9 comments:

  1. The genial old drone has his own personal invader to worry about and her imminent arrival may be adding to his agitation. He can expect Rhiannon to be a bigger pain in his arse than even Turnbull is to Abbott as she challenges his right to rule. Perhaps he's decided to rattle his spears to warn this unwanted intruder of just what a ferocious warrior he really is.

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  2. Feel everyone is just starting to realise how insane the Green policies are, now that Julia is following them to the letter.
    As for Bob Brown, he just hates having to explain his policies, because he has never had to do so before.

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  3. Murdoch, Murdoch, Murdoch,......
    More like some baffled old frog.
    And nothing genial about him either. Simply, his hating, nasty side has been exposed.

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  4. Anonymous said...
    Yes Nark, and is it not as though he has not already been rattled by his own kind - how would one feel under the stare of the evil eyes of Sarah 2-fathers. Add the former post-1968 Russia enthusiast Rhiannon to the mix and Bob will feel what it is like to be a member of a humanities/law department in the modern era. His sexual orientation notwithstanding, he will feel what it like to be at the sharp end of an attack on the patriarchy.

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  5. love this! 5 stars.

    JMH

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  6. Eastern ApproachesMay 23, 2011 at 3:11 AM

    Bravo, sir. First class.

    Enjoying the read as I puff on a Don Carlos and sip a Sauterne cask Glenmorangie.

    Pah, pah, pah. Time for a slash...

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  7. I raise my glass to you Proffessor ! You were good before you went away but now you are much better, perhaps same might be said of me? By profession I do my small part in tearing out the mineral wealth of the planet. For my lack of mendacity I spent 2 years jail time under the heal of left wing tyranny. By inclination I am therefore loathe to underwrite their seat polishing. My toast to you is in tax free moonshine. Salute !

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  8. Bunyip, you are a cruel person, how nasty of you to chop off two of Hawkers legs.

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  9. I'm in the midst of having to fill the void in my blogging life now that I read Andrew Bolts column so rarely. He has been over-run with Leftist Dribblers who have made the blog unbearable.
    Now it's just you and Tim Blair for my daily dose of sanity.
    Ta.

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