I was entirely disappointed to see that those tea-smoking layabouts at UNESCO have knocked back our Tony’s move to cut down those pesky old-growth forests in Tasmania. How anybody could see the benefit of having these phallic monstrosities blighting the landscape of our southern neighbours is beyond me.
Having travelled Tasmania extensively during the native insurrections of the 1800s, when I was forced to spend months at a time fending for myself in the forest as I collected bounties and war spoils from the local Indigines, I came to loathe these logged interlopers of progress. Too many times was I ambushed by squads of marauding thylacines that would use the generous foliage offered by the trees as cover. The thylacines, high on the PCP they had chewed from the tree leaves, would gnash and claw at my loins, desperate to feast on the spoils. Only my advanced machete skills kept me alive during those dark times – I remember once collecting the heads of 25 of the striped bandits in one day.
In fact, it was with my machete that I started the modern-day logging industry in Tasmania, when on one particular occasion I hacked through a 12 feet thick trunk in under 15 minutes, so as to fashion a log-craft that could carry the small family of darks I had acquired on a raiding party back down the river before they spoiled.
News of my escapades, and the superior quality of the Tasmanian redwood, spread like a wildfire, and thus a mighty industry was born. Within months, whole towns, villages and precincts were being constructed using Tassie’s finest, and the wooden leg producers of Davenport became the third largest suppliers of false-limbs in the world. Furthermore, with the ample open spaces that wide-spread and indiscriminate logging afforded, the State Government was finally able to construct the highways, freeways and parking lots that God had always intended to grace the Apple Isle.
Bust fast-forward to 2014 and the scourge of the old-growth forest is back to pre-industrial levels. Once proud logging families now live in conditions of squalor, forced to sell their youngest children for cannibal consumption by totem-toting hippies with severe cases of the “munchies”. Meanwhile, the thylacine gangs that once inhabited the trees have now been replaced by vast networks of illegal immigrants, who use elaborately linked tree-top houses to plan eco-terrorist attacks on the isolated pockets of civilisation that are still attempting to eke out a living amongst the all-encompassing labyrinth of greenery.
And yet, when our Tony attempts to take reclaim just the tiniest of slices of land, to restore it back to its intended glory, he is thwarted by the international institution of ineptitude that is UNESCO. Shame!