Unda the polite circus


One of my recent missions I have to share with you. The insanely spontaneous Polite Force and their giant joint scooted off to the ALP Campaign Launch in Brisbane on a few hours notice.  I was down the beach and got the full alert call from the Unda HQ.
I’ve been working the busses for the Boss.  He’s determined to find the source and goes on about it at every meeting. “We’re spending half our dog budget on your bloody village Virginia, or whatever your name is this week.  Find me the source.  Who’s in charge of the circus out there.”
He doesn’t get it and if I say “unorganised crime, sir” as I have before, I’m liable to get screamed at.  “Work the busses, find the source.”  He’s convinced there’s a giant crop hidden un the hills.

I didn’t mind, I was down the beach with some Danish backpacker hippy doper types suggesting a day trip to Nimbin to score some weed for the day.  Some job this eh?  Suddenly the jolt in my wrist.  I couldn’t hide the shock on my face either as I remembered the Boss grinning insanely as he gave me the watch.  “It records everything within twenty metres and, by the way, in extreme urgency, you may get a little shock call.”
I had to tell the backpackers I was psychic and it was a message from my sick mother.  “I must go to her.”  I think they believed me, even were impressed.  The message ‘DENNMW bris south bank conv centre polites idiots loose’.  Drop everything now no matter what.
I was there in a personnel record fast time and sure enough there were my old smoking mates from the Hempbar, their polite overalls blending in with our boys in blue so well I didn’t see them at first.  It was easy to stick a hole in their massive joint and it quickly began deflating.  None of them noticed.
I soon organised Julia and Kevin to arrive through the back door so the subject of cannabis had no chance of making it onto the agenda.  Just doing my job.  The rest of what turned out to be the ALP Election campaign launch went smoothly until near the very end.
And this is the story that made the boss love me again.
The huge Expo entrance has a hundred steps a hundred feet wide and it was covered with journos slowly descending the steps at the end of the show.  Many of them were coming over to the polites and their nearly flat joint in the protest area, trying to score.
Then, at the top of the stairs, an apparition appeared.  A giant Oakes Burger I thought, as the famous redneck journalist, hero to the Bosses, gripped the one and only handrail beside the wide steps and started his delicate descent.  He was surrounded by minions.  The entire family moving in slow motion as his enormous bulk shuddered downwards.  One slow step at a time.  If he tripped it would have been horrendous, and he knew it.  We all knew it.
Now the Hempsters from Nimbin are hated by BIG Laurie as much as refugee smugglers and they spotted him early, only ten steps from the top.  Like a rabbit in the spotlight, he was more exposed than a streaker who makes it to the pitch at the Boxing Day test on the MCG.  In front of the nation’s journalists big Laurie was at the mercy of the hippies in a perfect auditorium for their hand held megaphone.  But they started argueing over what to say, and who got the megaphone.
He was fatter than fat.  It was too easy.  “Hempseed oil.  Let’s tell him about hempseed oil,”  said a kind girl.  What if he trips and falls?  There was dead silence as everyone pictured the horror of it.  Long enough for me to slip the batteries out of the megaphone and put it out of action.

Photos courtesy of the Polite Brigade Media Unit.

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