Bland On Bland – BBQ DAY 2007

This week’s poem I wrote for Jon’s JVG Radio Method on 3RRR was for the Sixth Annual Triple R BBQ Day and performed live in front of the crowd. Thanks to everyone there for your support.

There is no recording for this one as we were all having too much fun.
Thanks to Dan Warner I now have a recording of the poem… [audio:JVG_Poem20071209.mp3]

Tim Chmielewski has some photos of the day at and thanks Tim for the kind words.


Election time and politicians, grovel for your support
Like most things in life, Victorians, embrace them as a form of sport
They gather around the Barbie, have snag and a beer or two
Which is only fitting since politics resembles a Bar-b que

Everyone loves a sausage, but each has their own appetite
Wilson Tuckey likes his hard as a rock, Kevin Andrews with a bend to the right
Peter Garret prefers his skewed to the left, so the wiener won’t roll off the grate
But Family First won’t go near a snag unless it’s guaranteed, perfectly straight

Bob Brown came dressed as a salad, they tossed him in with the dips
He chained himself to the griller when he found the spuds cut into chips
The Honourable member for Braddon, came dressed in more liberal apparel
To cover his seat he discarded his pants, for a strategically placed pork barrel

Pauline Hanson, the little orange roughie, not everyone’s favourite dish
Toned down her policies to try and win votes, whatever, they still stink of fish
Face down on the grate, her skin turning black, with all the other species around her
Sharing the grill with a blackfish, a ling and a yellow bellied flounder

Jackie Kelly and Karen Chijoff, wound up in a chilli sambal
Neither knew what their husbands were up to, cooking their goose halal
Though the recipe was found in their house, they claimed they’d never seen the brochure
Till the critics howled, it tasted foul, and definitely wasn’t kosher

The Minister for Workplace Relations, the Honourable member Joe Hockey
He lectured the Barbie on industrial reform, but now he’s not sounding so cocky
He’s even disowned Work Choices, last week that would have been treason
A plump rolled brisket, now he’s got the chop, but at least he was given the reason

Julia Gillard’s a heifer, and that’s an issue, or so it appears
To get where she has, in the bullring of Canberra, she had to be twice as good as the steers
Attacked for her twang and her choice to stay childless, her private life took a beating
But here on the Barbie, no one cares how you sound, the proof is all in the eating

A boneless butt fillet, Brendan Nelson, they wrapped him up in foil
Ever since he admitted they’d invaded the Barbie, partly because of the oil
A well-basted turkey, Alexander Downer, could saut‚ all day in the heat
But he had a conniption, when they put him on bread, he’d developed an allergy to wheat

The prawns Ferguson, Roxon, and Shorten, didn’t fancy being grilled on a spike
Held a stop work meeting, with the help of the shanks, pulled all the meat out on strike
The pork knuckles organised the picket line with skewers from the chicken kebabs
The rissoles were flattened when they tried to break through, no wonder they look like scabs

Tony Abbott, a feral suckling pig, with a mouth that could tear you to strips
It takes more than an apple or a six percent swing to silence his caustic lips
Cooked as he came, with his foot in his mouth, complete with his trademark sneer
Finally getting what he’s so used to giving, a skewer shoved straight up his rear
Out of respect, though he’s sadly departed, for his courage, it seems only right
After Abbott’s carcase is dragged off the coals, Bernie Banton should have the first bite

Peter Costello couldn’t wait to be cooked, but the chef kept him waiting and waiting
Instead of the griddle he spent years in the fridge, impatiently marinating
When his chance finally came to be thrown on the Barbie, he slid off without really sticken
While the Libs claimed he was made out of beef, some thought he tasted like chicken

Kevin Rudd, cut from the rump of a sheep with a flavour not unlike a snag
Even after cleaning, trimming and cooking you can still see a trace of a dag
Looking like “Butters” from South Park, classical chump through and through
Every salad the Libs put on their plates, Kev was there yelling “Me too”

John Howard, a T-bone, was king of the Barbie, he wielded the tongs like a sword
Kyoto, IR, and a little confusion about some saveloys being thrown overboard
Some even suggested “Little” Johnny was fibbing, and had on occasion since
The voters reacted by having him boned, then ground him down into mince
He finally realised it was time to depart but he grasped it a little to late
If you stay too long on top of the Barbie you end up ash on the grate

Sooner or later the party must end and you wave goodbye to the crowd
Vale Mark Vaille, Chow to Mal Brough, and Sayonara forever John Howard
Elections like Barbies should never be clean, I leave you with something to savour
Take away the muck and the grime and the dirt and you take away all of the flavour

© Copyright 2007 Ian Bland

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