CLANCY OVERELL | Editor | CONTACT
Australia’s former Prime Minister Kevin Rudd has today come to terms with the fact that he won’t be leaving his reluctant posting at Kirribilli House for quite some time, after Scotty From Marketing was again proves to the world that he has a long way to go before he is in any shape to be leading the country.
This follows the news that Kevin has relocated from his home in Brisbane back to the secondary official residence of the Prime Minister of Australia, in an effort to help mentor Scott Morrison in his duties as the leader of Australia, and as a man.
Rudd’s decision to step out of retirement to return to unofficial duties as an Australian statesmen appears be one he was forced into in early June – after he was approached by senior business figures who begged him to take over the negotiations with multinational pharmaceutical suppliers in an effort to accelerate our nation’s bungled jab roll-out.
Since moving back into Kirribilli House earlier this month, Grandpa Kev has been blown away by how poorly this household operates without the input of a more experienced statesman like himself.
While working on the engine of Scotty’s families busted Hyundai Santa Fe, the supposedly retired Grandpa Kev had his therapeutic afternoon chores spoiled after hearing the current Prime Minister’s commonwealth care pull into the driveway.
“Hey everyone look what I got!!!” Scotty From Marketing yells at his family inside the multimillion-dollar tax-payer funded Prime Minister’s residence.
“Oi!!!” he shouts again, like an excited toddler struggling to climb out of his tax-payer funded chauffeured vehicle.
After three attempts at heaving his body out of the back passenger seat, and a lot of puffing, the Prime Minster’s driver points out to him that his seat belt his still on.
“I don’t recall asking your input you low life cunt!” the Prime Minister scowls at his servant.
“Now open the boot!”
The PM doubled around the back of the luxury car and immediately snapped back into daggy dag mode.
“Jenny come look at this!”
“Look what I bought on the drive back from Cronulla!!”
With his arms outstretched in front of him, a fluffy white Pomeranian puppy dog with shit in it’s eyes.
Grandpa Kev sighs.
“What the fuck is that?” he asks.
Scotty ignores his predecessor and takes the dog inside, where it immediately pissed on the carpet.
The scenes were reminiscent of the time Scotty announced to the nation that he’d just spent billions of dollars on the AZ jab, ignoring the offer of a rapid Pfizer roll-out to instead order 40 million doses of the British made version because the blue blooded toffs in the Liberal Party were so keen to support the scientific achievements of their beloved Oxford University.
“Let me guess, Johnny Howard told you to buy that one too?” asks Kev.
“Or Alan Jones. Or Tony? Which one of their mates sold you that yappy fucking thing?”
“Look at that thing. Have you ever seen a more impractical pet than that?
“Why don’t you get a real dog ya mug!”
