Straya

On a sunshiney day at an outdoor gig in a park by the beach in Cronulla, I met a Palestinian man who had come to Australia last year for a better life for his family. His wife and four beautiful children said hello but it was he who needed to talk. To a clown. There is something about wearing a red nose that makes people open up and share their stories.

I told him I thought he was very brave to leave everything and everyone he knew behind to create a life in a new country. He told me in Australia he had hope for his children’s future. He believed that they would have a better life here. He said,
In eight months we have achieved a lot.”

I told him I thought that it took a lot of courage to start life in a new country, but as I said it, I felt a dread that I’ve never experienced before. I hoped to God that dumb rednecks would not ruin his view that Australia was a peaceful place to be. I hoped that no one made nasty remarks or commented on his accent. I couldn’t bear to mention to him that racism is rife, as I could see a few metres behind him a woman pushing her child on a swing with a southern cross tattoo on her neck

I want an Australia that doesn’t lock people up and torture them because they dare to seek asylum

I want to vote for politicians who consider people in their policies before posturing politicking bullshit

I want uneducated rednecks out of parliament

I want a beautiful Australia where real estate speculators haven’t bought up and ugly-fied every building that happens to overlook a beach.

I want to live in a country that recognises that love is love.

I want aboriginal people recognised in our constitution.
I want $300 lunches to be abolished while people are homeless and kids are going to school hungry.

An end to reality renovation shows
I want to meet this lovely man’s children in 20 years and say, “Your mum and dad wanted you to live in safety so they gave up their friends and family for you to have a chance.” I hope they have a wonderful life, I hope they don’t get teased for their accents. I hope their mum and dad find great jobs and they grow old together, free of war.

And I hope his kids don’t end up voting for idiots 


Unrool nursery rhymes

As a well-known hash taggerer, disruptor slash influenza influencer slash media guru and recent graduate of The Richard Wilkins’ School of Real Good Journalism ‘n’ That, I’m very, very busy coming up with Get Rich Quick Schemes and ways to help my many readers find more ways to connect and waste time on social media. I’m hoping to motivate my huge fanbase to break through brick walls and hashtag their way to world peace, pin so many photos on Pinterest that the war in Syria will end, and sign so many petitions that Malcolm Turnbull will finally grow a spine. Whatevs.

I’m so busy being fabulous that I’m hoping you won’t notice that I’ve written a short and gratuitous blog post this week. In the meantime, here is some of my unbelievably artistic rhyming poetry stuff:

Two little dicky birds sitting on a wall

One named Peter (Dutton) and one named Paul (Keating)

Rack off Peter, kick him off Paul

Drop dead Peter, come back Paul

 

Controversial political art that is

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Rage against the machine

Back in my day….

No one was allowed on a bus with a pram unless it was folded when I had babies. There were no special pram parking spots on buses or trains. But back then women didn’t think that spending two grand on a pram was a good idea because people actually believed they could one day own a home within four hours of Sydney, so they put the money towards their mortgage instead. Now everyone under the age of 50 in NSW is stuffing their faces with expensive avocadoes and craft cheeses because the idea of actually buying a car or a house in Broken Hill and commuting on overcrowded public transport and congested motorways is too much.

Rage is all the rage in our part of the world. Segue rage, bike rage, parking rage, WestConnex is raping my suburb rage, Saturday night there’s nowhere to go out and my rent is so high I can’t afford a social life anyway rage is all part of living in Sydney.

And the Bernard Salt groupies who voted for the anti-science numbskull pollies currently in power continue to negatively gear, tut tut and invoice government departments for their opinion. Sigh. Anyone else looking forward to the Sydney property crash?

Dean Martin – On The Street Where You Live 

 

 

 


What the fork?

This morning Brandis is threatening to stall the same sex marriage debate if he doesn’t get his way. Unchristian Porter, Corgi and the other right wing rednecks all advocate butting out of people’s lives, except when it comes to telling people who they can marry. The problem with the Lieberal Nationals being elected is that the balding white males who run the party don’t want the world to change. The system works for them, it has made them rich. If we want a just political system we have to get rid of these dinosaurs. At least the independent parties are passionate about creating a fairer Australia.

I’m a yes person. I’ve done infomercials for washing machines, how hard can politics be? I thought. But after running in Joe Hockey’s electorate last year, I now know why women last don’t last too long in parliament. Hanging out with blue-suited number crunchers having endless discussions with accountants is more than this koala could bear.They reminded me of living in Britain in the late 80s when Dragoness Thatcher was in power.

Politicians are overpaid, and also the dullest people on earth, they receive far too much attention.  How do the political journalists do it? How can they watch the games of preening and self-congratulations and emotional manipulation and not want to bash heads in? How can they listen to the well-rehearsed sound bites and faux sincerity all day and stay sane?

My acting teacher Hayes Gordon said, “I don’t regret doing cigarette ads, I don’t regret alcohol ads but I regret teaching the politician Robert Askin how to be charming on camera so people thought he cared.” The Liberal party feed their candidates self-confidence pills so they believe they are the masters of the universe. That kind of self-assurance is breathtaking. Last year I found myself seduced by people whose policies are abhorrent. The Libs are so good at faux sincerity it’s like watching Tom Cruise acting. You start to think he’s actually a nice guy even thought your logical brain knows he’s a Scientologist and that he dumped our Nickers so he must be an arsehole.

I know this is unusual, but as a politician, I wanted to be transparent. I thought I was the prodigal daughter returning to North Sydney to save the electorate from the Liberals. But I wasn’t even a contender, the old boys club has too much money and they want it to stay that way. I know how Ricky Muir feels.

Now the idiots want to strip funding to carers while wasting millions on a plebiscite. I’ve been a single mother living on a small income for years, I know all about financial planning. Shonky Mal Turnbull may not know how to be a leader, but he could get a few single mums in his cabinet, then he’d be able to pass a successful budget.

Pink – Dear Mr. President


Trust me, I’m a politician

I’m hoping and praying that when I return to Australia we will have a parliament made up of a diverse group of female and male politicians, but I fear that nothing has changed. I should look on the bright side; another long torturous federal election campaign is over. There was almost a double dissolution, a budget, lots of pontifimacating about, “jobs and growth,” and eighty billion weeks of campaigning buffoons to endure.

I met a man who reminded me that voting is a privilege. “In my home country I wasn’t allowed to vote,” he told me.

Every night on TV we suffered idiots in suits who protect their mates and do very little to turn us into a clever country. Having watched them run a campaign in 2015, what disturbs me most about the Liberal party male power machine is not their political views but their lack of empathy. I didn’t hear any of them speak about helping their fellow humans in a real way. That’s a motherhood statement.

I learnt a lot standing as a politician in 2015. Don’t call swinging voters swingers at a community forum packed with senior citizens. Why did I want to be a politician? I got ahead of myself and imagined spending taxpayer dollars on homeless people, animal shelters and counselling for women victims of domestic violence. I met David Gonski. A rich banker who lives in Point Piper who actually knows how to fix our education system so it is fair to all kids, and the bastard politicians won’t even listen to him.

If I ever venture into politics again, I’ll start the single mother party. I will be the minister for cramped housing, over breeding and goon bags. If current politicians can rort their way into helicopter travel, when I’m elected every child of a single mum will receive a pony. but maybe I’ll just throw a party. Only smart people who want to save the planet can come. You with me? My slogan: Single mothers like to party. BYO cask wine and Prozac.

Spoken and authorised by Lou Pollard for the Single Mothers Like to Party Party.

The individual whose vision encompasses the whole world often feels nowhere so hedged in and out of touch with his surroundings as in his native land.

Emma Goldman

UB40 If It Happens Again
 

 


If voting changed anything they’d make it illegal

Politics? Anyone still interested? In Australia we are near the end of one of our longest ever election campaigns. In the US the fun has barely started.

Our world is in a mess.

Australia’s land clearing emissions have nearly doubled in the last three years. Most Australians want the Great Barrier Reef saved at the expense of coal mining. Idiot conservatives who have protected paedophiles for decades want to waste hundreds of millions of dollars on a same sex marriage plebiscite, babies are being harmed in detention centres, and many of our politicians pay lip service to ending violence against women. Funding to the arts and education have been slashed.

For the future health of our children, no further open cut mining or coal seam gas drilling should be permitted in residential or good agricultural land or near our waterways. Our long-term future is more important than coal, and nothing can replace the loss of our food bowl. To ensure a fossil fuel-free future we must vote the dinosaurs out of our parliaments.

This election, vote wisely. On Saturday July 2nd, we get to decide our next prime minister (until he gets knifed in the back by one of his party faithful).

Please think about what you’re voting for. You control your preference in the order you choose. Handouts at the polling booth are the way each party wants you to vote for their own best results, which is usually not the ideal outcome for the future of our country. It is time to make our votes count. We must honour the legacy of Jo Cox. 

Your vote is powerful.

In the voting booth, everyone is equal – Barbara Boxer

UB 40 If it Happens Again


Vote For Me

Why don’t you vote for me?

Not everyone in North Sydney would pay to meet Bronwyn Bishop.

This Thursday April 21st and Friday April 22nd, I’m performing my funny new show all about Australian politics, Vote One Lou Pollard at the Factory Theatre in Marrickville for the 2016 Sydney Comedy Festival. In this election year, come along and hear my crazy tales of politics in North Sydney.

When the other candidates are a joke, vote for the comedian

Vote One Lou Pollard tickets

Lou Pollard politician