Well, Clive has apparently decided that he wants to seek Liberal party pre-selection for Treasurer Wayne Swan's Australia Federal parliamentary seat of Lilley. Now while Wayne Swan arguably has the fiscal nous of a mouse, he is at least sane-ish, which gives him an edge over Clive who's as nutty as a pile of squirrels' bush chocolate. I can't think of anyone else on the planet who could possibly be more out of touch with the people he would be representing in parliament, apart from Robert Mugabe maybe. By the way, did you know that Mugabe is an anagram of Buga Me? Which is exactly what he's done to the formerly prosperous Zimbabwe. While Palmer is an anagram of Real PM, and that's exactly what he would be if the Liberal Party wins the next election, whether Clive wins a seat or not . Okay, enough of this, I can see the children are getting scared.
Robert Buga Me meets Iran's Mr Ahmadinnerjacket
What I really wanted to talk about today is death, and as such today's blog post will be a deep, sober and philosophical affair - like the Benny Hill show. Humans, in all their conceited arrogance believe that they are superior to all other animals, and that one of the things that makes them superior is an awareness of their own mortality. (Though seeing how humans drive around here, that is definitely questionable.) They like to believe that they are the only creatures on earth who are aware that they will eventually die. This is not the case. An impala for example is all too conscious of the fact that if a lion bites his head off it will end badly for him - the impala that is, not the lion, unless of course the lion chokes on one of impala's horns.
All animals except humans know of a place called The Rainbow Bridge. When an animal dies this is where he or she goes. Just before you get to the Rainbow Bridge itself there's a huge rolling meadow where all deceased animals are restored to health and are free to romp and play with each other and all their needs are catered for. There is just one rule. No one is allowed to eat any of the other residents. I'm not quite sure how carnivores get on there, but no doubt their needs are met with vitamin additives and the like. Who cares anyway, there's plenty of fresh dewy grass for the likes of Badger and I.
This side of The Rainbow Bridge acts as a kind of waiting room, like at the vet only without the funny smells and the twelve year old copies of National Geographic and Readers Digest. Then when the animal's staff dies they also end up in the lovely meadow. This is particularly difficult for postal workers who are immediately chased by dozens of dogs. Once the animal has located it's own staff there is a tearful reunion and the two cross The Rainbow Bridge together hand in paw to live together forever in an even more beautiful meadow on the other side.
Of course most humans live longer than their animals, though there are some exceptions. Some types of parrot are known to outlive their staff, and giant Galapagos tortoises are likely to get through several staff members before they eventually go to The Rainbow Bridge. Those humans who do pass away before their animals also go to The Rainbow Bridge to wait for their animals to join them. Here they are made welcome by the other animals and are invited to romp and play while they are waiting. Once again, postal workers may not enjoy this waiting period. Animal owners who have neglected or tormented their animals do not go to The Rainbow Bridge when they die. Instead they are transported by Ryan Air to Sydney Harbour Bridge (A thirty-six hour flight with only one toilet, and a screaming brat in each row of seats.) Here they are forced to wait on one side of the bridge in a small hatchback car in a permanent traffic jam on a forty-two degree centigrade day with the windows wound up and no air-conditioning. I hope you all find these few words comforting, unless of course you are a postal worker.
I hope it's a long time before I set foot on The Rainbow Bridge.