IN THE END I THINK I'D RATHER BE ME!
It’s now okay to be an Aborigine when you’re clearly not, or even be a bloke when you’re clearly a sheila… so bugger it, I want to be a fucking fish! Not forever, just for a day or so while summer is still here.
I always thought it would be great to just cruise in and out of our Reef doing nothing but looking at those beautiful corals, just like all those uni student “marine biologists” from James Cook’s “Centre of Excellence” get to do.
Then when I morph back into me I could tell everyone there is actually nothing wrong with our Reef.
And then if people don’t believe I was really a fish I could take them to that Human Rights Commission and win a case for piscatorial discrimination, because if I have an inalienable, legal right to be a female Aborigine, why not a harmless fish?
I mean fish don’t cost taxpayers $30 billion a year, do they?.
So, considering I should win that case, I then want to be a girl Aussie Rules player so I can get to reciprocally soap up all the sheilas in the showers after a game (except for that Perkins bird of course) before turning back into a bloke to finish the job.
Then I'll be Bill Shorten for a day! I would ingest 3,500 Laxettes and stay seated on the toilet until I completely disappeared. Or I could be the Queen and sit naked on Turnbull’s face for a while. That’d be good!
And then I’d convince the Queen to get that Meghan Markle girl to agree to be white, so poor old racist Phil wouldn’t have to put up with little black princes and princesses tearing around the palace.
But most of all I want to be me because, a few days before the big C gets me, I have around six people on a list I intend to shoot dead,
…cos I’m determined, one way or another, to leave this joint better than I found it.