Venting my spleen
I cannot claim to possess oodles of imagination. But I have my moments. Sometimes I can envisage such bizarre delights that I can entertain myself for hours. Perhaps I really am a creative type person. An artist. A political aesthete. (Or maybe an undiagnosed hebephrenic schizophrenic.)
If I am — well it's all to the good. I'm sure we could all do with more of it as we go about our ADL — activities of daily living. It's entertaining to be blessed with such ready amusements. But all my readers will know that I am not a mere thinker — grand though I may be in that regard. I am very hands-on when it comes to the execution of my every-now-and-then musings. I am a doer, an activist — and bloody proud of that I am too.
So many thoughts of mine, particularly the good ones, insist on some investment of time and energy to bring them into existence outside the confines of my ooey gooey grey matter up top.
And I have hit upon a corker of an idea: the John Winston Howard Ventriloquist's Dummy!
What do you reckon? A vent — because that's what they're called by their handlers; "dummy" only upsets them — which can be adopted by any thinking Australian who is over 18 and registered on the Commonwealth electoral roll. It wouldn't do for unqualified personnel to be in possession of such a powerful tool as their own domesticated PM.
So taken have I become with this notion that next to me as I write is the head of the aforesaid gentleman. I call him Winston. Say hello, Winston ... You have to realise that talking is about all he is capable of — being, if you'll excuse me, Winston — a bit of a dummy in all other respects.
I am very proud of Winston. While he possesses a head much larger than I would have liked, I do think we have captured the likeness of the — I was going to say "real thing", but I should say other one.
Of course Winston is not finished. He is, after all, only a head — and one made entirely of mud. He is, for the moment, somewhat muddle-headed — but just you wait. The boy and I have big plans. (Don't we, Winston?) We sure do.
This here little fella is going to be my Pinochio. (You're my little Pinochio aren't you, Winston? You sure are. And daddy loves you, doesn't he?) But to breathe life into him — good fairies offering three free wishes being hard to come by in the suburbs — one needs to brush up on their ventriloquism.
As I understand it, ventriloquism is not taught at any level of the Australian educational system. Well, it should be! But since it is not, Life of Riley Enterprises will be offering correspondence courses in this neglected social skill. Make friends, impress your business colleagues, be a hit at parties, pick up lovers — it's simple! Study ventriloquism by correspondence.
And you can one day be the guardian of the nation. That's right! You can adopt the prime minister and be responsible for his every act and opinion. Since you're always complaining about who you are forced to vote for, now you can make it all happen within the confines of your own living room, with your very own parliamentary majority, inner cabinet and front bench rolled into one. In future you call the shots. Winston can be yours to do with what you please.
Let's just say that we want this to be a creative process geared to niceness, and we won't let Winston go to any home in which we fear he may be abused. We're doing this for the greater good, and we expect Winston to be a tool for something kind of wonderful.
We want to be proud of Winston. We want to be able to look at him and say: "That's my boy. No better dummy ever led the country."
Dave Riley <dhell@ozemail.com.au>