Letter to Anna Bligh, QLD Premier

5th March 2010

Dear Anna,

I thought rather than writing a letter in the traditional sense, I would simply paste it up on our lovely site. I’m sure you are an active user of the interweb despite your age. I imagine you regularly google yourself, just to see what ex-boyfriends and high school crushes might find should they look you up. I hope some of them find the time to stop by here.

My tip is to create your own website, like I did. Although it hasn’t (yet) fetched me a life partner of any persuasion, I feel it is a step in the right direction.

But as much as I would love to chew the virtual fat with you, todays ‘letter’ isn’t all about search engines and my inability to find a girlfriend.

Today, in what I would consider to be very much a bolt out of the blue, I would like to make a formal complaint. I doubt you get many of these in your position compared to say a janitor/cleaner but still I expect this will be treated with all the seriousness that was intended.

Today I was forced to catch the bus to work. I know, I felt sick at the thought too. Unfortunately my poorly serviced Lantra decided that months without adequate oil or water was a real problem. ‘Real’ in that it refused to start. Well that’s not entirely true. It started ok, however then it performed what I consider to be the automotive equivalent of bamboo under the fingernails. I have never heard a car scream like that before.

So off I totted to the bus stop, coffee in hand, laptop slung over my shoulder, healthy perspiration dripping down yonder crack. After a short 20min wait on the 2nd Avenue / Gold Coast highway bus stop (heading north to Miami) one of these so called busses pulled up. Am I saying that right?

Now I am a bit of a planner Anna, so I ditched my banana, fished deep into my pocket (past the bandanna) and pulled out a shiny new fifty cent piece, ready to pay for the short 1.65km trip to my destination. I greeted the driver with a high five and my courteous smile, described where I was going and produced the fiddy cent (the coin, not a CD), and began making plans for the change I was about to receive (it was a toss-up between the instant glory of a 20c lolly mixture versus the long term satisfaction of putting it directly into my savings account).

You can imagine my shock when Mr Bus Driver (not his real name) assured me (it took several attempts) that the fare was no less than $3.90.

A smile crept onto my face when I suddenly realised I must have just paid for a first class ticket on this bus. What the hell I figure, I’ve probably got time to sip down a couple of complimentary drinks, perhaps watch a short film.

But no that wasn’t the case was it Anna? No-siree-bob. For this bus was chocka-block full of snot nose little school kids. Seriously, half of them were covered in boogers. I was forced to dispatch at least two of them through the sunroof. I think I might have twinged my shoulder, but I don’t hold you in anyway responsible for that. I’m not a manic.

What I am though is a mildly handsome human of 6 feet and 2 inches (in the old language) - which in man speak means I am actually 6’1 (As a side note if half a subway sandwich is 6 inches I’ve got yet another serious problem to add to my list). Regardless my knees were pressed up against the plasticy bit of the chair in front of me for the entire 6 minute trip. I now know what pushing a boulder around in hell for eternity must feel like (except you don’t have to pay money to get into hell).

Now, I’m no fancy pants calculus professor (cue audible gasp from you the reader) but I did a little bit of computing of my own on my Amstrad PCW (green screen, with upgraded 512Kb of pure unadulterated RAM). A recent flight to NZ cost me $139. If I was to catch one of your buses back to the land of the long white cloud it with come at the princely sum of $17,472. Ok I confess I made no such calculation, these numbers are plucked out of the sky. My point (if I had one) is that a bus ride to NZ would be pointless, on high tide at least.

FYI I have scanned the ticket below, as proof of purchase – just so you don’t think I am a complete nutter. How did they know I was a single adult by the way – just adds more weight to all the murmurings about big brother tactics – the conspiracy theory, not the reality TV show.

In signing off Anna, I would like you to know that this is not a personal attack. Your name is simply the only one I know. Except for the Ruddmeister, but to be honest I don’t even know if you are even on the same team. Are you in the red or the blue team? Actually there was that Lawrence Springboard chap, but he seemed like a bit of a knob to me.

I don’t think I am asking for much. In fact I haven’t asked for anything. I guess if I had to define the whole point of writing this letter it would simply be….urrm….I think I just want some money.

Yes.

Can I have some free money please?

Thank you for your time. Now get back to gifting QLD’s assets to the Chinese (I accidentally caught the news whilst channel surfing one time).

Love and hugs,
Maitlacker.