Grag Balbrady

The People's Champion Has Returned


Apologies for the delay since my last post. My dear wife, Maiter, has taken ill after a fall down our back stairs, so I have been tending to her at the hospital.

It all happened, completely coincidentally, soon after we had finished watching the Newcastle Knights lose their sixth consecutive match of the season to the Balmain Tigers. I don’t remember all of the details, thanks to what I call my “sherry haze”, but I do seem to recall Maiter accidentally tripping over my walking cane as she passed between me and the television.  In the resulting tumble across the lounge room and down the stairs, Maiter managed to rupture her pelvis in 3 places, and partially swallow her dentures. Thankfully, having fortuitously programmed my phone to dial only two numbers (triple 0 and the Continuous Call Team) I was able to hail an emergency vehicle to collect her when I came to my senses the next morning.

I took this photo after removing her saline drip. I believe any sort of IV to be akin to illicit drug taking, and instead keep up her bodily fluids by forcibly administering a litre of water every hour, into any available end.

I took this photo after removing her saline drip. I believe any sort of IV to be akin to illicit drug taking, and instead keep up her bodily fluids by forcibly administering a litre of water every hour, into any available end.

I only left Maiter’s bedside today, after the Oriental doctor at the hospital advised that the septicaemia should be residing shortly… or at least I think that’s what he told me. But, for the next three months, she will at all times need to wear oven mitts and a cone around her neck, so that she doesn’t pick at the wounds.

For now, our fingers are crossed that she passes her dentures gums-first.  Horrible, just horrible.

The two of us in happier, healthier times.

The two of us in happier, healthier times.

With the love of my life on my mind, I read today with interest the latest rumblings around so-called “maternity leave”. Never in my life have I encountered such a moot argument. Why on earth would we want to be encouraging our women to work in the first place – has the world gone mad? Maiter certainly never needed career aspirations when we were raising our beautiful daughter, Sherry Haze. In fact, I saw to it that she was unenrolled from her law degree the day before I proposed to her! It calls to mind a letter I had published in the Newcastle Herald some years ago, which I will reproduce forthwith:

Congratulations to Jeff Corbett (Keep the sink chains, 18/2) for having the courage to openly voice what every decent citizen knows to be true. For the last thousand years western society has flourished under the system of men doing the work and women doing the facilitating. I’ll be damned if I let these two-bit do-gooders and peaceniks try and tell me how my society should be run. This is not to say that women don’t play an integral role in modern day society – every good engine needs oil to keep it in order – but to suggest that we throw the whole system out the window is shear insanity. As I said to the bleeding heart republicans in ’99: if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.
Grag Balbrady, Waratah Heights

Hear hear, I say!

Although I don’t generally like to stray from our Tony’s chosen path, surely a simple solution to the current budgetary crisis would be to scrap the Paid Parental Leave Scheme altogether. As well as freeing up billions of dollars, it would dissuade women from wanting to seek employment in the first place, and instead let them focus on their God-given talents of making babies and cleaning.

Furthermore, only single women and lesbians (which in my mind are the same thing) should be allowed to engage in full-time employment; after having been put through a rigorous screening and licensing process. In my mind, this would be a win for everybody – easing pressure on the economy, increasing employment rates for males, and seeing a return to the good old fashioned family unit.

A strapping young lad dressing up just like Daddy. More of this, I say!

A strapping young lad dressing up just like Daddy. More of this, I say!



It was good to hear my old friend Alan Jones have it out with that turncoat Turnbull on his radio programme this morning.

I consider Turnbull to be nothing more than a pinko with a stock portfolio – his morally erroneous views on the gays and the boat people alone deserve immediate expulsion from the Liberal Party. Take into account his fervent belief in the nonsense of “climate” change and this abhorrent ideologue would look more at home sitting over with the loony left in Greensville.

Rolled up sleeves are only the beginning.

Rolled up sleeves are only the beginning.

Yet here he still is, agitating for the leadership via any means necessary (God only knows what he and the man mountain Palmer got up to in that Oriential restaurant with the Treasury Chief – no doubt Mr Palmer’s five daughters gave Malcolm a work out during the entree, followed by a main of strangled cat with Cream of Samyang Gai).

And while it will be a warm day in Heaven before that Eastern Suburbs-loving, late-sipping layabout ever does wrest back control of our Party, I can assure you that it would be the ultimate ‘bringing it down from the inside’ ploy: we’d have a female Minister for Man on Man and free education for gay babies before you could say “poof”

Malcom and Clive leaving dinner.

Malcom and Clive leaving dinner.

But back to my good friend Alan. Now there’s an old fella that you can hang your hat on. Not many people know this but Jonesy and I spent a great deal of time together in London during the 80s. We had originally crossed swords at our alma mater, Toowoomba Grammar, but it wasn’t until I was back in the mother land, working with MI6 (you wouldn’t have heard of them) in 1988 that I ran into him again.

Jonesy was in town with his rugby team, and completely by chance we met in a public toilet in Soho – I was in the middle of a top secret surveillance mission when Alan happened upon my cubicle. Now you may have read about this chance encounter in the media before, but let me tell you: none of it is true.

Here’s the real insider story, blow by blow: As Alan opened my cubicle door, I naturally began to moan in shock at seeing such an old friend in such a random venue. Alan too, let out his own shock-moan, stepping forward to shake my hand. But as he made his move, the trench-coat he was wearing caught on the cubicle door, accidentally pulling it (and also his pants and undergarments) from his person, and causing his hand to fall to his never regions. Meanwhile, still wide-mouth and moaning in shock, I also accidentally fell forward as he fell into me, resulting in a rather unique position between the two of us which I won’t go into here, other than to say that from an outside perspective it could look “compromising.”

He looked a little like this.

He looked a little like this.

Then, in the midst of this happening, I somehow activated my alert system, which summoned the nearest available Bobbies to come for assistance – and of course they arrived right as we interlocked.

We subsequently cleared all of this up with the police once everybody had come to their senses, and Alan and I continued on to enjoy all the sights and sounds of late 80s London.

We have kept in contact ever since, and often meet up for late night orating sessions. It goes without saying I see a lot of myself in Alan, and he sees a lot of himself in me. I wish him all the best


I was disappointed to see  today that Our Tony will not be pursuing the student debts of deceased estates. I thought Mr Hockey and Mr Pyne’s comments were right on the money – a student loan is just like any other loan, and one does not stop owing simply because one has stopped breathing.

Here's our Joe, pledging in a TV interview that his kids are happy to pay his $100,000 degree when he dies.

Here’s our Joe, pledging in a TV interview that his kids are happy to pay his $100,000 degree when he kicks the bucket.

When I was a young pup I was expected to pay off my old pappy’s debts after he was put to death (a story for another time). As well as fixing up the remaining tuition fees with the Brewarrina School of Anti Semitism, I also took care of the outstanding amounts he owed to his personal biographer, and the child care costs for his three illegitimate children in the Cook Islands. Did I complain about this? No I certainly did not, because I know that education is a privilege and not a right. I simply put in an extra three shifts a week at the abattoir, and within thirty years I had paid it off. It was, and still is, No Big Deal.

My greatest concern is that we will now see a wave of fake deaths in the student community, with the long-haired socialists creating elaborate ruses so they can shirk their debts to society. With this in mind, I propose that any individual with outstanding tertiary fees whom dies before the age of forty should have their corpse displayed in public for a period of no less than three weeks, to ensure their mortal status. If it is discovered that they are not actually dead but just faking it, or that the corpse is that of an impostor, their most immediate member of kin should also be executed. Tough, yes, but also fair.

This young gentleman's last thoughts? That he didn't flunk that psych course in third year.

This young gentleman’s last thoughts? That he didn’t flunk his  third year psych course.

All monies owing can be extracted after the three week public exhibition period; at which point gold fillings, metal plates etc can be removed and any physical belongings will be auctioned off at official government fire sales.

Furthermore, the public display of the corpses, which I envisage being placed as strategic points around universities and similar institutions, will serve as a warning to any other skylarkers or freeloaders that might be contemplating similar schemes.

For as is written on old Pappy’s tombstone: A Debt in Life is A Debt in Death.


I’ve read more huffing and puffing in today’s papers about the proposed $7 co-payment for GP visits. Once again we are hearing the same usual voices crowing about the great injustice of it all: poor little Suzie won’t be able to afford to take her four children from three different dads to the doctors to receive their methodone shots thanks to Suzie’s heroin addiction; dear old Mrs Chong is going to have to euthanise her husband because she can no longer afford to include his GP visit in the weekly budget.

Can't afford to treat our sick child but we can afford to feed the pitbull.

Can’t afford to treat our sick child but we can afford to feed the pitbull.

Well you know what? I think they’re all looking at it wrong. I believe the $7 co payment will encourage those of a lower socio-economic bracket to not contract so many treatable, avoidable illnesses in the first place. And by reducing the number of sick people, we can then alleviate the demands on our health system.

Now I won’t have it said that I’m heartless – I do believe there is always room for compromise. With that in mind, I propose that chronic GP visitors could have the option to work off their co-payment fees as part of the work for the dole program. Not only can they repay their debt to society, but he active outdoor work would no doubt cure their illnesses (both real and imagined).

Furthermore, I believe a similar tax on emergency services phone calls would also work wonders, encouraging undesirables to sort out their petty problems internally and freeing up our police and paramedics to do more important work.


Today, my gentle readers, I stand in awe of a great man: Liberal Senator Dr Bill Heffernan.

In case you hadn’t already heard, Senator Heffernan – or ‘the Hef’ as I have always called him – has smuggled a fake pipe bomb into an Estimates hearing, to showcase the lack of security at our Parliament House.

The Hef told me he found the fake pipe bomb in his wife's top drawer.

The Hef told me he found the fake pipe bomb in his wife’s top drawer.

This is a master stroke that I believe rates up alongside my introduction of the cane-toad to northern Australia to demonstrate the gaps in our bio-security laws (don’t believe the ‘locust-eradication’ propaganda that the mainstream media pedals nowadays).

I myself am a regular visitor to Parliament: I believe that Question Time attendance should be mandatory for all voting citizens, and I exercise my right to do so on any available occasion (plus I also like catching up with my dear old friend Bronwyn).

It seems that on almost every visit to the Grand Halls I witness breaches of security that would have Philip Ruddock turning over in his grave. Just last week, during one of my QT sittings, I was suddenly called upon by nature to, as my dear old Grandma so euphemistically said, “spend a penny.” Taking a wrong turn (easy to do in those Labyrinthine corridors) I unwittingly found myself in the Prime Minister’s personal office. Mistaking his treasured Manly fern tree for a urinary receptacle, I unfurled my jocks and began my business – only to have Our Tony burst through the door with his entourage!Thankfully Tony and his man-friend (identified as “Peta”) allowed me to finish my business, before inviting me to stick around for some shortbread and Tea.

I'm not sure I approve of the long hair, but otherwise: two top blokes!

I’m not sure I approve of the long hair, but otherwise: two top blokes!

It was a most illuminating and enlivening conversation, with Tony and Peta undertaking to follow up on the majority of my proposals regarding re-implementation of the White Australia policy, but afterwards I was struck by the realisation: what if it hadn’t been a trustworthy fellow like me who had wandered into the Prime Ministerial suite? What if it had instead been some raging ex-KGB agent, a steroid riddled Tiger Shark, or one of the bearded jihad ladies of Afghanistan? I shudder to think of the consequences!

This is why I believe the Hef’s pipe bomb ploy was so important – just like I demonstrated with the Cane Toads and our bio-security laws,  Hef has shown us how severely lacking our Parliamentary security protocols are.

And in fact, this is a systemic problem for our nation. I implore all Australians to locate and highlight similar holes wherever they may be present: smuggle a fart bomb into the opera house; secrete firecrackers onto a Qantas Flight, or even just mail a good old-fashioned envelope of white powder to your elected representative.

If we all follow the Hef’s example, Australia will be a safer place.


I welcome our Tony’s commitment to increasing spending on security cameras and CCTV.

Since returning to Australia I have noticed a distinct rise in criminal and antisocial behaviour around my neighbourhood of Waratah Heights. Rollerboarders and rap painters (most likely high on the cannabis) roam the streets freely, defacing public infrastructure and terrorising any person brave or silly enough to try and stop them.

Just yesterday my long suffering wife, Maiter, was accosted by two youths in our own front yard as she tended to the choko garden. After approaching her in a menacing fashion, the long-haired, low pant-wearing duo (Maiter could not tell if they were boy nor girl) asked Maiter for the time – a seemingly innocuous question on face level, but no doubt a “slang” term for buying drugs. Sensibly, Maiter grabbed the nearest weapon she could find, which in this instance was the hose, and proceeded to drive the youths from the property with a well-directed torrent of bore water.

Maiter also managed to capture this photo of the doped-up marauders using the GoPro camera I have instructed her to wear at all times.

Maiter also managed to capture this photo of the doped-up marauders using the GoPro camera I have instructed her to wear at all times. Shocking!

Despite acting so swiftly and decisively, Maiter was immediately overcome with shock once the nightmare experience was over. I have unfortunately had to sedate her for the last 18 hours; time will only tell when she recovers.

By increasing the number of public security cameras, we can hopefully deter this sort of degenerate behaviour. But cameras are not enough – I still propose that police numbers should be tripled, corporal punishment for youths reintroduced, and state-issued fire arms be made available for all citizens over 65.





News of another shark attack in Port Stephens today says to me that we are not culling enough of these prehistoric murderers. Just how long do we have to wait before it’s your child, innocently walking down the street or dancing in their bedroom to a Rolf Harris record, that is TAKEN by another member of this so-called “protected” species.

I caught this Noah just last night, lurking in the drains behind my local RSL.

I caught this Noah just last night, lurking in the drains behind my local RSL.

In my humble opinion their very continuing existence is the biggest moral challenge that we, as a society, face. For too long have these finned thugs hid behind their green-left “endangered” badge, marauding honest Australians at will. In my suburb of Waratah Heights alone, we have had three confirmed shark attacks in the last two months, plus a string of break and enters perpetrated during king tides. Friends, family and neighbours agree – enough is enough.

I propose that, as part of our Tony’s generous new work-for-the-dole schemes, squads of unemployed youths should patrol our beaches and waterways on stand up paddle boards, eliminating any sharks or threatening marine life they encounter with explosive-tipped Nerf guns. Whatever carcasses are collected can than be returned to shore to be cleaned and filleted by DSP recipients.

Me and little Benito patrolling Throsby Creek this morning.

Me and little Benito patrolling Throsby Creek this morning.

This program excels in its adaptability – once the shark problem is eliminated, the squads could target other maritime threats such as whales, dugongs and boat people.