Sticking it to The Man
The Sheik

There are plenty of things that confuse me about people’s behaviour. Spend some time on the knobtracks, what some people call ‘highways,’ around the place and you’ll find all sorts of stuff that defies human logic. In fact, it probably defies chimpanzee logic as well. But I can’t for the life of me get my head around people, supposedly sensible people, that push for a fishing licence across Queensland.

Imagine you’re walking through brigalow scrub half an hour out of St George. You’re in your jocks, with no hat or sunnies and you’re armed with a 4” length of baling twine and a pair of tweezers. There are tracks all through the melon holes showing that there have been big mobs of pigs destroying everything in their way. As you get through a five strand fence that’s sagging because the strainer post has been pushed over by a particularly large tusker, you catch a glimpse of a massive bulky body through some rosewood branches.

There’s snorting, snuffling, moist chewing sounds and some squealing. You consider whether the Queensland Government is holding a cabinet meeting, then correctly assume that there’s a very large, extremely dangerous animal just downwind from you.

At this stage, in my opinion, the correct option is to clench the baling twine, and various body parts, very tightly, and get back through the fence, avoiding making any noise or emitting any odour that might alert the nearby mammal of the potential for some slashing, stabbing, chewing and stomping work, and head for the nearest belah tree, at which point you shimmy up that trunk and wait for as many hours as it takes for that beast, or the Cabinet, to move far enough away for you to take your twine, your tweezers and your trembling body back to base camp.

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