Dear Prime Minister,
Sometimes, when you're smack bang in the middle of a storm that's been going on for a while, it's hard to figure out what the fuck is really going on. Insanity becomes the norm, up becomes down and knowing your arsehole from breakfast time is a real challenge. And when that shit storm is of your own making, well, it's not unusual to tell the odd porky pie and to get a bit antsy about all the criticism. And we all know how easily the adrenaline kicks in and the need to destroy all of one's enemies from the past and present becomes an unstoppable obsession. We are reasonable folk, we understand - it's bloody hard being in charge of shit, let alone a whole nation. One can go a bit crazy being the big boss – there's no shame in that. Please note Tony: mental illness is common, it's not a sign of weakness and the prospects are good if you seek help. And guess what? I have a solution for ol' China, and I feel the time for compassion is nigh. I will admit I was getting a bit cranky with you and the fire in me belly was not doing me, or the dog, any good.
Let's face it, the game's over Tony, hang up the gloves son, have a rest.
I've got a hunch that you want to be remembered kindly by history and, believe me, a record loss at the polls will one almighty piss weak footnote. Compare that to the glory that would rain down, like a Golden Shower, upon a PM who had the balls to chuck in the towel and say, “Fair shake of the sauce bottle, I had a shot and I stuffed up. Time for someone else to have a go. There's a whole bunch of folk, way better than little old me, that could do this country proud. I apologise for all the suffering and the international embarrassment.”
I know you will find this counter-intuitive, but that's the bloody brilliance of it. So much so, it just may even get Malcolm, or Scott, or Julie, or Christopher, or whoever, in at the next election. And if it doesn't and Labour get in you can rest easy that you won't be charged for a GP to write up a mental health plan, which you may need when they approve a wind turbine, or ten, up on the ridge at French's Forest.
Give it some thought Tones, seriously, imagine the universal impression of magnanimity if the bloke in the #1 top job humbly stepped down to let a mate step up and have a shot! It's so freakin Ozzie mate, that I wouldn't be surprised if Banjo bloody Patterson rose up from the dead to pen “The Ballad Of Tony Abbott” which would become an instant classic to be recited by flag draped primary school kiddies for generations to come. And that pesky the dual citizenship issue? That will disappear like coal mining in the 21st Century – that's right cobber we are in the 2000s – crazy eh? You'd not only be a legend, but your parishioner mates will likely petition Pope Frankie for a sainthood – Saint Tony, patron saint of the nose (he woke up, smelt his own shit, and dug a hole and buried it along with himself, talk about one-upping the IS death cult in the matrydom stakes!)
Look, all that glory stuff is one thing, but your health Tony is what is really important. I'm worried about you. I've mentioned the mental stuff but have you had a physical check up lately? I'm no GP myself - I've thought of it but the Uni Fees put me off a bit - but I'm sure I've detected the signs of early onset Parkinson's and Dementia a few times. That interview that you did with Mark Riley back in 2011 was a red flag for me – yeh, shit does happen eh? And that was before you even became PM, these things don't get better all by themselves Tony. But then again maybe you are seeing a GP? That constant dry mouth that you just can't seem to wet with that forked tongue of yours, that's a side effect of medication, surely? But really you shouldn't just be treating the symptoms Tony, you really should have a break. I've noticed that twitch in your left eye as well, the stupid media are calling it a misogynist wink, but as usual they're wrong - whose side are on they on anyway? And isn't it always the case that those little quirks of nature happen at the worst moments, and always when someone’s got a camera on you. And are all those cortisols pumping through your body giving you a skin rash under your arms and in the groin? I mean the way you walk looks like you're in a lot of discomfort. If one didn't know better they might think you were a cowboy ape. In the interim, try some Johnson's Baby Powder, I'm sure Peta can duck down to Woolies and get some for you.
I know you love your family Tony, and even though you still have a mortgage, I think you can manage to take a well deserved extended break and spend more time with the gals. I know I may be out of line here but I get the feeling that Margie is need in of some loving, if you know what I mean (twitch twitch). And your three not so bad looking daughters, how long is since you had the time to do some of that Dad stuff with them. You know, say, have an onion eating contest just for laughs. Or maybe a family pedal to Perth and back before brekky. The spawn of your loins deserve that quality time. Scholarships and cheap rent are great, but now they know they haven't got a half brother the only familial testostorone they're gonna be able to sniff is from you bud, you know that. What a precious gift you could give them by quitting your day job.
I could be all groovy and righteous and say that I want you to step down for the sake of the sick, the elderly, the children, the indigenous, the women, the refuges, the unemployed, the gay folk, the wind farm manufacturers, the trees, the koalas, and the Barrier Reef, and though I do care about all that bleeding heart crap, it's you Tony that I genuinely am concerned for. You care about us, you tell us so, and you've been working every day for us, you tell us that too, so it's time we cared about you for a change. You must have some sick leave up your sleeve, take it – fair dinkum that's what it's there for – hang on your not on casual are you? And don't you worry your silly little lizard head about everything coming to a grinding halt, the torch you put to red tape and the unions will guarantee that Gina and Twiggy and Gerry and Coles and Woolies will keep us all on the treadmill 24/7 – open for business just like you said.
Tony I hope you don't mind me ignoring normal protocol for a change. I live in the seat of Fischer up on the Sunshine Coast. You may remember coming up here in 2006 for a wedding, I think it cost you $609.10? Beautiful place up here, which reminds me I better get up to the Great Barrier Reef soon, the future grand kiddies will ask about it for sure. I know I should broach this matter of your health and the leadership of the nation with my local federal MP, Mal Brutus Brough, but I was worried if I planted a seed in that silly bugger's brain you could end up on the menu at a fund raiser. It would just be all in good humour of course, but I hear Mal's got access to your diary and a charity match cricket bat, which is a dangerous proposition when you consider his IQ and infamous retributional sex drive.
Go out on your own terms Tony. Write your own future, I mean you have an unmatched skill at rewriting history, so put your talent to good use, and write that retirement plan now. Do a 180 and look at the inevitable future that awaits you if you keep turning up to work sick. Euthanasia is illegal, but when has the law ever applied to your colleagues? I'm right aren't I. Think of yourself for once Tony and get out now before it's too late.
Good luck cobber,